


stuck in your orbit (pulling me under)

by baeconandeggs, CookieCuddler



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Angst, Barebacking, Break-Up to Make Up, Drinking, Drunk Sex, M/M, Romance, Shared Apartment AU (kinda), alcohol use, make-up sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2020-03-19 23:02:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18980140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baeconandeggs/pseuds/baeconandeggs, https://archiveofourown.org/users/CookieCuddler/pseuds/CookieCuddler
Summary: Getting over someone isn’t supposed to be easy. Baekhyun knew it was going to hurt, but being with Chanyeol wasn’t his morning coffee or a favorite snack from the store; he was his right arm—perhaps even the blood that runs through his veins and the oxygen he breathes into his lungs.





	stuck in your orbit (pulling me under)

**Author's Note:**

> **Prompt:** BAE382  
>  **Disclaimer: baeconandeggs/the mods is/are not the author/s of this story. Authors will be credited and tagged after reveals.** The celebrities' names/images are merely borrowed and do not represent who the celebrities are in real life. No offense is intended towards them, their families or friends. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this fictional work. No copyright infringement is intended.  
>   
> 
> **Author's Note:** Hi everyone! So, I have a lot of feelings about this fic that I'm not going to get into at this time, but know this was an experience for me and I hope it is for you (not in the same way yikes) in some sort of way. 
> 
> Dear prompter! I have some explaining to do. Originally, this fic was supposed to be a lot longer but I'm such a chaotic mess (I'll go into more detail and update this during reveals) so I had to ""cut"" a lot of things. And by things I mean they are living together but at the same time? Not really? It's very important to the plot (and was supposed to be more important to the plot but the fact I finished this at all without--hopefully--sacrificing the story's overall quality is short of an absolute miracle like I'm in awe that I finished this.) I hope this is okay and you don't fight me in the comments (actually, fight me in the comments, I 100% deserve it).
> 
> Also, they do have insecurities but it's not as loud as I originally planned (I'm hoping less is more), but it is there!

Baekhyun stares into his bowl of _Lucky Charms_ cereal. He’s not hungry. He’s never hungry in these situations. The ambiguously shaped marshmallows melt in the milk, the puffed rice already strategically plucked from it. Each marshmallow sways around the ceramic with each gentle flick of his wrist, the metal spoon disturbing the miniature pool.  
  
His eyes sting from fatigue, tears collecting on his lower eyelashes. He watches his phone that rests on the worn wooden round table. There are no new notifications.  
  
“Is Minseok on his way?” He yawns.  
  
Sitting across from him is Jongdae, a friend he met during his college orientation and his sole companion in the kitchen.  
  
Jongdae sighs under his breath as he scratches behind his ear. His eyes are bloodshot and there are visible bags under his eyes. Under the soft overhead light, his brunette hair is colored black.  
  
Baekhyun has only lived with Minseok, Jongdae, and Kyungsoo for a few of months. And in that short time, he learned that their schedules are chaotic and hosting a _family meeting_ is next to impossible.  
  
“Maybe he got held up at the bar or missed the 11:13 train,” Jongdae comments distractedly. His thumbs tap the surface of his phone, the light from it exenterating the harder features of his face.  
  
“I think we should go to bed. Kyungsoo isn’t here anyway and we have work in the morning,” Baekhyun takes a bite of his soggy cereal, the sweetness of the marshmallows overwhelming his taste buds. The sugar only seems to deepen his exhaustion.  
  
“Yeah,” Jongdae sets his phone on the table with a light clack and pushes the sleeves of his sweatshirt up his forearms, “But we need to talk about rent and our lease.”  
  
Baekhyun frowns. He stirs with his spoon, the metal scraping the bottom of the bowl and the marshmallows finally disintegrating, diluting the whiteness of the milk into a stale brownish color due to the mix of blues, pinks, yellows, and purples. He’s jealous of it.  
  
“Not to rush you,” Jongdae adds quickly. “We know it’s been hard, and this is probably a permanent decision—”  
  
“It is.” Baekhyun lifts his gaze from his meal and catches Jongdae staring at him.  
  
He understands the importance of the conversation and why they need to have it, but he doesn’t want to. The past couple of months have been difficult as is and further complicating it by discussing what he wants to do next is not something he knew how to deal with. All he knew was he shouldn’t stay at the apartment with his current feelings. It wasn’t fair to either one of them.  
  
“You don’t have to decide today, and we don’t have an issue with you staying with us,” Jongdae comments, his tone now softer and his words more articulate.  
  
Baekhyun nods, “I know.”  
  
“Have you heard from _him_?”  
  
“I blocked him.” Baekhyun replies curtly.  
  
Jongdae seems to deflate in his seat but simultaneously look relieved, “Ah.”  
  
The jingle of a lock resounds from the foyer, pulling the attention of the two men in the direction of the front door. Given Jongdae’s position, he could see straight down the hall, but Baekhyun is blind. By the soft _Oh Gosh_ , and the clumsy clank of glass bottles, he can tell its Minseok.  
  
“Minseok, you finally showed up,” Jongdae calls, his head resting on his palm. His typical humor is absence from his voice.  
  
“I missed the train,” Minseok breathes heavily and trudges down the hallway, “I had to run down to the next platform to take the 11:24 train to 32nd street and take the bus that stops in front of that Chinese restaurant.” He emerges in the doorway, his cheeks flushed pink and his eyes bloodshot. His face is swollen and there are stains on his white-collar shirt.  
  
“You should just quit that job at the restaurant,” Jongdae lightly kicks the seat between himself and Baekhyun, the wooden chair screeching across the linoleum.  
  
“I will once I graduate,” Minseok places the bags of what appears to be alcohol on the wooden table. He folds the plastic back, revealing the cardboard holder for a six-pack of cheap beer. The same brand that burned its taste on the back of Baekhyun’s tongue from his escapades in college, and those thereafter, that led to several drunken hook-ups—Regrettably with the same man.  
  
“You went shopping,” Baekhyun comments softly.  
  
Baekhyun catches Minseok staring, a frown present on his features, aging him three years. It’s the same stare he finds Jongdae and Kyungsoo giving him from time to time.  
  
“I went a different way and walked past a convenience store.” Minseok shrugs, “I figured we should treat ourselves.” He unfolds the last bag and it’s a four-pack of soda, “Baekhyun, I bought you soda since you’re not an alcoholic like us.”  
  
Minseok smiles at his own joke and Jongdae whines a _what’re you talking about?_ while stretching his arms over the table, the tips of his fingers brushing the bowl. Baekhyun returns his gaze to his cereal. He respects the notion, really everyone’s attempt to try to help him out of this funk.  
  
“Hey, maybe we should call it a night. You guys seem tired and I know I’m tired,” Minseok announces suddenly, picking up each pack of alcohol and placing it in the refrigerator that is adjacent to the table.  
  
“After we waited for you to come home?” Jongdae complains.  
  
Minseok stops in refrigerator, the door hiding his side profile from view. After a moment he resumes, sighing softly.  
  
Jongdae yawns, his arms stretching above his head, “I guess it couldn’t be helped.” He smacks his lips, “Maybe Kyungsoo can join us next time.” He stands, phone in hand, and retreats to the hallway opposite to the refrigerator. With a wave, he sighs a “Good night.”  
  
Baekhyun watches Jongdae’s retreating form, the room suddenly colder. He returns his attention back to Minseok and catches him staring at him once again. The older man frowns, now standing at full height. His mouth opens then shuts, the gears turning in his head through the sparkle in his eyes.  
  
“Are you okay?” He prods softly.  
  
Baekhyun releases a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding, the sound akin to a forced-out chuckle. “How many times do I have to answer that question?” He continues to stir his dissolved marshmallow bath, a small whirlpool forming. His eyes trace the soft ripples.  
  
“Until you answer the question honestly,” Minseok pulls the chair Jongdae kicked earlier and takes a seat. He folds his hands on the table.  
  
A silence falls between the two, only the sound of the spoon clacking against the bowl every now and again and the air conditioner clicking on.  
  
“You can talk to us about it, and if not me or Jongdae definitely Kyungsoo. He’s a great listener.” Minseok smiles at his remark, the subtle insinuation apparent.  
  
Baekhyun frowns in response, “I know.”  
  
“How about this,” Minseok perks up, his voice demanding Baekhyun’s attention, “We could go out or something—all of us to help give you your mojo back. How about karaoke? We had fun last time.”  
  
Baekhyun shrugs his shoulders. He’s not enthusiastic about the idea. The last thing he wants to do is go out and be seen by anyone.  
  
“Think about it at least?” Minseok touches Baekhyun’s wrist, “You’re so blue.”  
  
He isn’t sure what about Minseok’s comment that upset him because it’s true. He’s very blue and muted compared to how he used to be, but he doesn’t want to be reminded of that. He drops his spoon and stands.  
  
“Baekhyun—”  
  
“I have work, so I’m going to bed.”  
  
“You can’t pretend what happened between you Chanyeol didn’t happen.”  
  
Baekhyun stills, bowl in hand and half-way to the sink. He can feel Minseok’s eyes boring into his back. He’s knows he’s in the wrong, but he doesn’t care— _shouldn’t_ care. The past is in the past, and he has every intention to move on from it.  
  
He resumes his trek to the sink and sets the bowl into the basin. His hands grip the edge of the counter, “I never said I regretted what Chanyeol and I had.”  
  
The lie is sour in his mouth. They never should have taken that additional step and changed. Everything was easier when they were just friends. Everything hurt less when Chanyeol was just his best friend that he had a stupid crush on.  
  
“Have you spoken to him?” Minseok’s voice is soft, caressing Baekhyun’s ears, subtly telling him it’s okay. That the race of his pulse is normal and that the ache that bloomed in his chest is supposed to happen. That it’s okay to miss him.  
  
“Do you speak to your exes?” Baekhyun has the urge to turn around and stare into Minseok’s eyes so he knows that his words have merit. He meant what he said when he stumbled on their doorstep crying with a belly full of liquor, but his legs are steadfast in their position.  
  
“Chanyeol is just an ex?” Minseok whispers, disbelief apparent in his voice.  
  
“Yes. That’s what happens when people break up.” He didn’t like the idea. In fact, he hated it. Breaking up is a natural part of life but it shouldn’t have been natural for them. Their last try was _the_ try that solidified their relationship. A moment in their history they were supposed to reminiscence fondly on—but it wasn’t. This is reality and Minseok needed to accept that.  
  
At Minseok’s silence, he moves, albeit slowly, to the room he shared with Kyungsoo. The older man didn’t respond nor make eye contact, prompting to fixate on a spot on the linoleum. Baekhyun didn’t look back and closes the door with a muted thud.  
  
  
  


~~~

  
  
  
  
Baekhyun rolls the sleeves of his blue and white striped-collared shirt down his forearms, the fabric returning to its natural place at his wrists. He’s tired, not only physically but mentally.  
  
The classroom is quiet since the last student left with her father, the man apologizing profusely for being late due to traffic.  
  
He loves his job. Being a teaching assistant came naturally to him. During undergrad, plenty of his classmates hated their major and hated interacting with children more, but to him it was something that just clicked—even when dealing with problem children.  
  
But lately, work has been hard on him. There’s a tiredness that slumbers in his limbs, even after his rest days where he spends most of his time lounging around the apartment. After the break-up, he called in sick for a week stating he had the flu; a lie he didn’t want to tell, but he couldn’t face the first graders he came to cherish—not like that. That time was supposed to help him pull himself together and stop being a burden to everyone, but if anything, he remained stagnant. Emotionally, he wasn’t in as much pain, but he still can’t shake the tiredness that came with it.  
  
Even now, he feels guilty about his behavior change. There’s no way his current attitude, the one his roommates constantly dance around talking to him about, isn’t spilling over to his professional life. He knows he primarily works with five and six-year-olds but they’re sharp. Perhaps they don’t know that he’s still suffering from a break-up, one he inherently caused, but they can identify a smile that’s masking something deeper—something akin to guilt and in his most vulnerable, yet delusional, moments, regret.  
  
He rationalized that this feeling that lingered at the end of his fingertips and caressed the tip of his tongue was him wishing he could take his confession back. The one that bloomed and took him down a road he didn’t wish to travel, at least not with Chanyeol, but even that explanation is unsatisfying.  
  
“Baekhyun, you’re still here?” A gentle voice calls from the hallway, a bounciness present in her tone. A slender woman stands in the doorway, a brightness radiating from her. The teacher, Ms. Im, smiles at him and his face warms in embarrassment.  
  
“I was about to head out.” He grabs his bag, currently sitting on the desk. He suddenly feels out of place, almost as if he was caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to.  
  
“Why the rush? Do you have a hot date on a Friday night?” She teases, her eyes sparkling from the sunlight shining through the windows that line the right side of the room. Her medium brunette hair tied into a ponytail swings and her heels clack against the floor as she quickly strides to the cabinet behind Baekhyun, an unnerving excitement about her.  
  
“Oh, no.” Baekhyun shakes his head, alert.  
  
Baekhyun didn’t talk about his personal life at work. He liked to keep these two worlds separate. However, he didn’t go out of his way to hide it either. His _friend_ that brought puppies for career day was the hot gossip at the water cooler in the teacher’s lounge. Some gushing over how handsome he was and how he’ll make a great husband, and others whispering how they stood too close or how they had this look that said it all. Sometime thereafter, the handsome stranger and Baekhyun’s relationship with him was still a popular topic of discussion.  
  
This changed when he returned from his week-long sick leave. People still gossiped, some gently prying for more information, but most just stared, suddenly more interested about the new gymnasium and how the kindergarteners were ecstatic about it. After he first entered the teacher’s lounge that morning, slumped over the round table for their daily meeting, skin pale and dark circles surrounding his swollen eyes, it was Ms. Im that approached him. She beckoned him to the coffee maker and embraced him. It was a simple gesture and something everyone did, primarily Kyungsoo and Sehun as he cried the first couple of days. He remembers her being warm, similar to a breeze on a spring day that rinsed away the chill of the winter. After they broke a part, she whispered a simple _the kids missed you_ while smiling at him, one that didn’t tell him he will feel better soon or this is just the hardest part, but one that told him she understood. At the mention of his students, his vision cleared, reminding him what was most important: the kids.  
  
And since then, he prioritized his students. He had a duty to them.  
  
“You’re just going to go home?” She teases as a large rectangular box comes into view. He can’t see it well behind her form, but the glitter lining it in unstructured swirls is difficult to miss.  
  
“Well, my friends want to go to a karaoke bar tonight—” Baekhyun starts. He personally hated the idea. Getting drunk and singing a few songs wasn’t going to fix him, nor make him feel better. If anything, all it would do is make him talk about his regrets and his other toxic thoughts that fixated on a person who can longer be a part of life, no matter how he truly felt about it.  
  
“That sounds like fun!” She turns around, her ponytail lightly smacking her neck.  
  
On the front end of the box is _BAEKHYUN_ written in black permanent marker and the names of each student written around it in various shades of reds, blues, and greens.  
  
He stares at, counting each poorly inscribed name until he reached the golden twenty-one. The more he studies it, the more he can spot between the over-glued metallic stars and fuzzy stickers. There are also pictures of animals and cartoon characters.  
  
He received a similar gift after he returned from his sick leave. The class made him a giant get well card that each student signed.  
  
He walks forward and Ms. Im completes the hand off, a loose smile across her face. Someone drew him with large circular ears and a monkey’s tail. There’s another of him dressing up as a vampire, similar to his costume from Halloween, with _but he’s nice!_ next to it.  
  
His students made something for him, about him.  
  
“I—” Baekhyun starts. Something blooms within him, something he hasn’t felt since before he ended things between himself and Chanyeol. His face heats as pressure gathers at the base of his eyelids, his head begins to ache, but the corners of his lips twitch.  
  
His students are the most important to him.  
  
They adore him and probably miss the way he used to be: the happy-go-lucky assistant that always coached them through their problems while holding their hand along the way.  
  
Smacking her hands together to free them of the glitter, the bothersome pieces cascading to the floor like a gentle snow, Ms. Im gestures with her eyebrows, them raising in emphasis, “Open it.”  
  
Their eyes meet and there’s a fondness in her gaze, wrapping him in a warmth that rivaled her embrace that day all those months ago.  
  
After finding the lip of the lid, he opens the box to find folded pieces of paper inside: they’re letters.  
  
“Yoona—” He chuckles in partial disbelief and astonishment.  
  
“Read them.” Yoona crosses towards the desk, her heels resounding softly against the floor. She chooses one of the letters that rested at the top and reads it, “Mr. Byun, thank you for picking our class. You’re fun to play with and you help me know my multiplication table. Please, I want you to be happy forever. Can we catch beetles during recess again?” Her voice carries a fondness while carrying the innocence the student processed. Afterwards, she hands it to him.  
  
His hand curls around the edge of the paper and he rereads the letter to himself. Each erratic stroke of the pencil was made with him in mind and love supported each curve of a character.  
  
His students are the most important to him—he doesn’t need anyone besides them. They’re his happiness and always should be.  
  
Baekhyun digs through the box and sees that each letter is personalized, some decorated with stickers and others with drawings.  
  
“I thought it would be a great idea. We wanted to remind you that we love you, and we’re patiently waiting for you. I told them to write about their favorite memory and some had a hard time because they had too many, so some students wrote more than one.”  
  
“Yoona…” Baekhyun’s lips perk up at the idea of each student loving him so much, and his heart grows in weight at the notion that they had to see him like this. He did them a disservice, but they still had the compassion to remind him of their adoration for him.  
  
He wants to show them a better version of himself and be the Baekhyun they came to know in their letters. Somewhere along the way, he and Chanyeol changed. This couldn’t happen with his students.  
  
The pressure grew behind his eyes until a warm tear cascades down his face. He had the urge to wipe it off, he cried enough these past few months, but this was okay. This wasn’t about Chanyeol or their multitude of problems. This is what he wanted—to move on.  
  
He wasn’t okay with it.  
  
There’s something pulling at the end of his sleeve, holding him steadfast. He so desperately wanted to run towards his new life and move on from the past.  
  
His life no longer revolves around Chanyeol. There are other people in his life who shouldn’t have to witness him like this or accept the person he is currently.  
  
His students are the most important to him—the only thing important to him.  
  
He digs through the pile of letters, almost too eager, and picked another note written on a blue piece of stationary paper. There is a doodle of a puppy and two men, one tall and one short.  
  
His eyes linger on the space between the two men and then the puppy: The two men are standing together—paired with the puppy outside of the bubble. He knows children are prone to act without conscious reason, so it probably meant nothing, but he’s fixated on it.  
  
He entertained the idea of telling everyone that he’s dating someone versus just skirting around the question. The fear that people would reject him due to his preference is a valid one, but it was never something that concerned him too much, at least while working at this school. What always stopped him from casually dropping that he and his _boy_ friend had plans was he felt he owed people an explanation. He liked to think he and Chanyeol would never break up, but in the event that they did, people were going to ask what happened or knew one plus one didn’t equal one. It would be another disappointment and another omission to failure.  
  
Maybe he was ashamed about how he and Chanyeol broke up and didn’t want anyone to know. Or perhaps, he didn’t want anyone to know how badly he took it—to know why he looked like he was rotting from the inside and that it was his fault.  
  
The paper slides against his fingers.  
  
 _Dear Mr. Byun,  
  
I couldn’t pick one memory, so I wrote three letters!!! I liked career day. Your friend brought cute puppies and I had fun playing with them. I hope he can come back soon so all of us can play again._  
  
His smile turns bitter. Not because of the letter, or Chanyeol, but the fact that his heart lurched at the memory.  
  
He remembers that day vividly. They were fighting and the self-doubts that ultimately drove them a part, always drove them a part, floated in his head. He remembers thinking Chanyeol wasn’t going to come and reasonably forgot between them pushing themselves into a box they didn’t fit into to make their relationship work. But he did. Chanyeol showed up in his seafoam veterinary scrubs and with three dogs trailing behind him on leases. He remembers how relieved he was in that moment and how he so badly wanted to run to him and thank him. He remembers the strain in his voice when he called Chanyeol’s name to introduce him to the class during the career presentations. He remembers how his eyes found the taller’s form no matter where they were, how the boom of his voice silenced his fears, how his fingers yearned to touch him whenever they happened to walk pass each other, and how he kissed him repeatedly in the hallway when he felt so overwhelmed by his feelings while the students broke for gym. He remembers how his _thank you_ tasted in his mouth and how Chanyeol’s _I wasn’t going to forget this, Baekhyunnie_ tickled his ears. He remembers how happy he felt—how they were.  
  
The word _regret_ returns to Baekhyun.  
  
He wishes he didn’t have to remember, and that this bud that grew thorns at the resurface of the memory wasn’t welcomed.  
  
He closes the lid and turns towards Yoona. Belatedly, he wipes the tear from his cheek, “thank you.”  
  
  
  


~~~

  
  
  
  
Like a typical Friday afternoon, the bus is packed. Luckily, he found a seat towards the end of the bus next to a middle-aged man, talking animatedly on a phone. The box Yoona gave him sits on his lap, secure with his hands wrapped around it and his work bag resting on top of it.  
  
He hasn’t read all the letters.  
  
He will, of course. His students wrote them for him, but right now he couldn’t.  
  
Somehow, Chanyeol is rooted so deeply within himself. It’s his fault. Unlike his coworkers or his other friends, he shared everything with the taller the man. They no longer were separate entities, but parts of a completed whole.  
  
Everyone saw it.  
  
His students, random teachers he would only see in passing, their friends—but they didn’t work, couldn’t work. The whole they mascaraed to be was a result of them smashing their two different pieces together and creating an image, one that he tied to his identity.  
  
He danced around the idea if he could be happy without Chanyeol in his life. Before they started dating, Chanyeol was his best friend. They had the same rhythm, their vibrations in sync and creating a melody that just worked. Crossing the line into becoming romantic partners only strengthened this tie, and applied stress to it.  
  
That was the hardest part of their breakup. He attached himself so unselfishly to another person and he gave until he had nothing left for himself.  
  
Regret never came to him when his thoughts drifted to this sphere of thinking—and he hated it.  
  
The automatized intercom announces the next stop. The bus slows down to a halt and an elderly woman steps off with what appears to be her grandson who couldn’t be any older than three. Baekhyun wouldn’t have noticed—nor cared—if it wasn’t for the boy’s large round eyes.  
  
They reminded him so much of Chanyeol’s.  
  
They talked about having kids. Adopting since they doubt they could pay for a surrogate. These conversations never took flight since they are just two twenty-somethings building a foundation for themselves that they can hopefully reside on, but they were fun conversations. Slightly naïve in nature, he liked the idea of Chanyeol being in his life forever—it made him believe that those feelings and those moments were eternal. No matter what, they weren’t going to stop, _they_ weren’t going to stop.  
  
Despite the physical possibility of them ever having children that were genetically theirs, Chanyeol always brought up the topic with _If we have a boy, I want him to have my eyes. I have my dad’s and it feels like a family heirloom at this point—but no matter the gender, I still want them to look like you._  
  
Baekhyun used to think Chanyeol was strange for thinking about something that was so far away as much as he did, often bringing it up while cooking dinner, outwardly thinking as he cut vegetables and in bed while succumbing to the throes of sleep.  
  
Baekhyun didn’t understand the weight of these conversations, no matter how ridiculous they were to him, until they stopped. When silence replaced Chanyeol’s naïve ramblings, Baekhyun should have felt something then.  
  
And just like that, regret returns.  
  
The automatized intercom announces the upcoming stop and the bus lulls but doesn’t perform a complete stop. After crawling for a few seconds, the bus returns to its original pace navigating the congested streets.  
  
The thoughts he buried the moment he closed the door of their previously shared apartment, crept to the surface. The click of the door was as familiar as it always was, but it didn’t bring him the comfort normality typically does. It was unnerving, almost as if all the emotions he swallowed as he packed an overnight bag as Chanyeol sat in the kitchen, on the floor holding a glass of vodka, erupted. The calmness he confided in slipped from his grasp and he felt alone and disconnected, wavering in-between two worlds—the one he built with Chanyeol and the one everyone resided in. Both were places he used to call home and no longer belonged to.  
  
 _Was this the right choice?  
  
Will Chanyeol be okay?  
  
Am I going to be okay?_  
  
He was confident while they traveled in circles, perhaps attempting to catch the other’s pull of gravity to bring them back to how they were supposed to be. Chanyeol pushed, as he always does, asserting that he could only do so much, and he pushed back just as hard that it wasn’t fair to him. And he pushed that he didn’t know what he was supposed to do. And he pushed until he said it.  
  
The confidence dwindled as soon as it left his lips and he saw how all the color drained from Chanyeol’s face. Where the anger and the frustration morphed into disbelief then hurt. The mask Chanyeol wore melted, the Chanyeol he wanted to see appeared. He heard him for the first time when he thought out loud, unwilling to comprehend what happened. It’s something Baekhyun wanted to witness, but it was to the wrong words.  
  
Baekhyun urged himself that he meant it or he wouldn’t have said it. There should be no regrets because that’s how he felt—forever. It was a sign that they need to move on, _is_ a sign that they need to move on away from each other, no longer orbiting around each other in the hopes they find that immaculate force again because it wasn’t going to work.  
  
He didn’t love him the same way anymore.  
  
What they had was dying.  
  
They had to stop kidding themselves and stop forcing something that wasn’t met to be.  
  
Baekhyun slumps in his seat, the fabric harsh against his back. The feedback from the man’s phone drills into his ears, picking at his thoughts. He suddenly felt out of place, almost as if he was moving backwards or walking on the ceiling.  
  
He couldn’t regret it.  
  
He didn’t regret it.  
  
He didn’t understand why he broke down the moment Kyungsoo answered his calls, or why the moment he stood on their stoop and Minseok opened the door. It didn’t make sense that he had pent-up anger residing inside him for weeks, but the moment he released it, it wasn’t satisfying.  
  
He made the right choice.  
  
He swallows thickly, a bitter taste stuck to the back end of his tongue.  
  
He’s not good for Chanyeol.  
  
Chanyeol isn’t good for him.  
  
Their breaks in the past never amounted to anything. Chanyeol forgot his promises, and Baekhyun never held his tongue like he said he would. He’s too tired to compromise, and Chanyeol couldn’t be bothered. Chanyeol’s apologizes lost their charm, and he couldn’t remember to say his.  
  
That’s why his feelings changed. Those moments overshadowed the days they lounged in bed on their days off, talking all night and fucking all day. Their impromptu breakfast dates at five in the morning no longer meant anything to him, despite the warmth that rises in his chest at the taste of buttery pancakes and pulpy orange juice from a restaurant they frequented. Laundry day where they sat in their living room, he folding their pants and Chanyeol their shirts; Grocery shopping with Chanyeol reprimanding him for never eating enough vegetables but always willing to cook whatever meat he dropped into their shared basket; Kissing Chanyeol’s tears from his cheeks whenever a stray didn’t make it, and Chanyeol cuddling him, them often falling asleep together on their couch, when he felt overwhelmed by work—weren’t a part of him anymore.  
  
Regret overcomes him like a growing tide. These moments are still precious to him, and he should have appreciated them more—loved Chanyeol harder. Perhaps heard Chanyeol’s words as he pushed, _to let him love him._  
  
“Excuse me,” the man that was sitting next to him is now standing, phone no longer to his ear.  
  
Baekhyun opens his eyes, albeit slowly, unsure if he fell asleep somewhere along the way. He blinks a few times, and the bus is noticeably emptier—his stop is usually the most popular one.  
  
The automated voice sounds, announcing the upcoming stop. It’s unfamiliar to him, only hearing the street name in passing.  
  
After putting two and two together, Baekhyun stands and lets the man move in front of him. He returns to his seat as the man holds onto the handle that hangs above the walk way. As the bus slows, the man treads to the front.  
  
He missed his stop.  
  
When the bus comes to a halt, he stands and follows the man outside.  
  
  
  


~~~

  
  
  
  
Baekhyun stands in front of a wall of refrigerators at the grocery store he and Chanyeol frequented, specifically the alcohol section. To his luck, to make it back to the apartment he shares with Kyungsoo, Jongdae, and Minseok, he has to travel through his old neighborhood.  
  
The nostalgia is suffocating. Memories of them strolling through the park when the weather was nice or travelling to the bus stop to enter the city return.  
  
He’s not okay.  
  
He doesn’t like drinking, and he hates it even more when he finds himself craving it when his emotions become too loud. It’s a dangerous coping mechanism, but he needs to relax and the only way that will happen is if he gets drunk.  
  
He looks back at his shopping cart, the box his students gave him sits in the child seat with his school bag resting on top and his pick of gummy candy in the main basket. To a passerby, he probably looks childish with a box covered in glitter, leaving a trail throughout the store, candy, and now cheap beer in his cart. They’re nothing but temporary solutions to a real problem—a way to numb the guilt that’s gnawing at his fingertips, and the regret that threatens to eat him alive.  
  
For now, he needed a reprieve.  
  
After reading the various brands of beer for the umpteenth time, he opens the refrigerator door, the chill penetrating through his collared shirt, a chill racking through him, and grabs a six-pack of whatever Minseok stocked the apartment with. The clang of the glass bottles is consuming, and as he pushes his cart away, the clack deafening.  
  
This is a bad decision; one he didn’t want anyone else to know he was making.  
  
It was awkward enough when he entered the store and one of the check-out attendants recognized and asked him how he was—wanted to know why he hasn’t visited the store in months, and why he suddenly came alone.  
  
Chanyeol deposited the check he mailed for his share of the rent a couple of weeks ago. He still lives in the area.  
  
For a brief moment of panic, Baekhyun was curious if Chanyeol continued to shop here, and if the locals they would typically chat with on their days out knew. That’s what he really wanted to ask the attendant, hopefully properly hidden behind his _I’m good, how are you,_ if Chanyeol said anything to anyone. Did he lie like he’s currently doing?  
  
Or maybe he didn’t have to lie. Perhaps Chanyeol is coping with the breakup and finally realized they _can’t_ work.  
  
It’s these types of thoughts he wants a break from, at least for a night. He decided halfway through the candy aisle that he won’t return to the apartment. His friends already saw him at a low, but there was no shame imbedded in those feelings.  
  
“Baekhyun?”  
  
Baekhyun stills, his heart thumping in his ears and feeling slightly lightheaded. He recognized that voice. When he turns, he’s met with the round face, rosy cheeks, and noticeable girth he would see every other day: his former next-door-neighbor.  
  
The same neighbor who undoubtedly witnessed their fights, Chanyeol being the one to storm out and leave for a couple of hours, and the instances where they would be apart for days, their drunken stumblings as they struggled to unlock the door and pull their clothes off.  
  
“Ah,” Baekhyun gasps in feign surprise, “Mr. Lee!”  
  
He didn’t hate the man; it was actually the opposite. Calling their relationship a friendship would be a stretch, but he enjoyed talking to him about the cactus he’s raising while doing laundry.  
  
“I haven’t seen you on the balcony or in the hallway lately, how are you?” Mr. Lee’s eyes are larger than what Baekhyun remembers behind his bifocals. His hair is grayer, and his skin is paler.  
  
“Work has kept me busy. How are you?” Baekhyun grips the rubber handle of the cart.  
  
The question is inevitable.  
  
“The doctor keeps telling me my blood pressure is shooting up, but my daughter is getting married next month so what can I do?” His smile is genuine and reminds Baekhyun of his father’s whenever he did well in school.  
  
“Don’t push yourself,” Baekhyun forces out a chuckle—he’s concerned about Mr. Lee’s health. He’s a great man, probably an even better father and was a loving husband before his wife passed, but as the conversation continues, he finds himself tittering on the edge of rationality. He didn’t want people to see him for the first time in months with bags under his eyes and a definite bad decision waiting in his cart.  
  
“I could say the same to you.” There is a silence between them, one Baekhyun is not grateful for, and Mr. Lee’s face darkens. He opens his mouth then shuts before stammering, “To keep this between you and me, and I know you like him and all, but Chanyeol is not a good balcony partner. He’s always been chatty, but lately he’s doing the laundry and he just broods.”  
  
Baekhyun swallows thickly, “Broods?”  
  
He should have laughed it off and said he’ll talk to him later and left. Let his obvious lie fill in the blanks, but he couldn’t or rather he didn’t want to.  
  
His heart is in his throat and his head begins to ache at the way his blood is pumping through his veins. He strengthens his grip on the handle of the cart, his knuckles turning white.  
  
“Yeah,” Mr. Lee nods, suddenly serious, “I’ll ask him how he’s doing, and he just replies ‘busy.’ Then I try to tell him to take it easy and he shuts down.” He licks his lips, hesitant but deliberate with finding Baekhyun’s gaze, “A few weeks ago, I asked him if he was okay and he told me he was just ‘busy,’ so I pushed and asked if you two were okay and he just left. I haven’t seen much of him after that.”  
  
“Ah,” Baekhyun’s head is swimming. He can’t breathe.  
  
“Tell him to take care of himself. Maybe he’ll hear it coming from you.” Mr. Lee says abruptly, his tone changing back to its normal upbeat character.  
  
Baekhyun nods, trying to keep his breathing even.  
  
People break up.  
  
They’re broken up.  
  
It shouldn’t be a secret since it’s a permanent decision.  
  
He doesn’t have to wear it around like a badge of honor, but he doesn’t have to keep lying to cover it up either.  
  
What is he waiting for?  
  
“Chanyeol—I’ll tell Chanyeol.” Baekhyun exhales slowly, his voice sounding unfamiliar to him. He watches as Mr. Lee nods to himself.  
  
“I know it’s not my business, but I worry about you guys. Maybe it’s because my kids are off living their own lives so I can’t meddle as much,” Mr. Lee chuckles while lightly hitting Baekhyun’s forearm. He adds, “I’ll let you finish your shopping trip. I’ll see you around.”  
  
Mr. Lee waves and walks into an adjacent aisle, leaving Baekhyun in-between the dry foods and toiletries aisles.  
  
He misses Chanyeol, that much is evident—but it’s not supposed to hurt like this. It’s deep, almost enveloping his entire being. He can’t be the Baekhyun that he wants to be because he misses being Chanyeol’s roommate, his friend, and his lover.  
  
Baekhyun moves towards the checkout, albeit slowly.  
  
They can’t work.  
  
How many times did they promised to change, and how many times did they break them? How many break-up/make-ups do they have to experience before he realizes and _believes_ that it’s not going to work?  
  
He stands in line behind an elderly woman and watches as she places her jugs of fruit juice and a bag of leeks onto the conveyor belt.  
  
For some reason, he’s not ready. They—he wasn’t ready. He’s not over Chanyeol because he’s not done with him. Perhaps, he’s cursed to crave his energy or he’s a stubborn dumbass who refuses to see who they really are and what he wants them to be will never happen. At this point, it feels like a little bit of both.  
  
“Paper or plastic?”  
  
To his luck, the checkout person is different from the one he saw earlier. This one is young, probably no older than 18.  
  
“Plastic.” Almost robotically, Baekhyun places his items on the belt and gages her reaction. She looks almost bored and unimpressed by his selection, never making eye contact with him.  
  
Each beep makes his head hurt and reminds him that he shouldn’t be here. He should run home and not stop. Instead of renting a hotel room and getting drunk in peace after sending Minseok a cryptic message so he knows not to look for him, he needs to do something different. Maybe he should lie that he’s not feeling well, and this liquor was a gift for tampering on Minseok’s plans. He should propose they all sit down and watch movies together like they did in college.  
  
But that doesn’t feel right either. It’s not different. It’s the same idea but in a different color.  
  
“That’ll be 37000 won.”  
  
“Ah,” Baekhyun takes out the necessary amount in cash from his wallet.  
  
The checkout person accepts the money and places it in the register. She reads from the computer, “Your change is—”  
  
“Keep it.” Baekhyun places the bag into his cart.  
  
For the first time, she makes eye-contact. She’s startled, probably from the diverge from the typical _”here’s your change/here’s your receipt.”_  
  
“Um, thank you,” she stutters while looking at the box sitting in the child seat, “also, nice box.”  
  
“My students made it for me,” Baekhyun hesitates for a moment, “I’ve been sick.”  
  
“Oh.” For the first time during the entire transaction, Baekhyun can see genuine emotion on her face as her eyebrows turn upwards in concern. After further study, he can see that her skin is pale and her eyes are sunken in. “They seem like nice people.”  
  
Baekhyun is still for a moment, his hands loosening its grip on the handle of the cart, “Yeah, considering it was a lie.”  
  
He’s not sure what compelled him to tell the truth to her, or why it mattered. Maybe it’s because she’s having a hard time too, if her dark circles are any indication, and he wanted to connect with her.  
  
Maybe there wasn’t a reason.  
  
“Oh.”  
  
“I’m going through a hard break-up and I wasn’t ready to face everyone.” He breaks their eye contact and stares at the worn metal on the closest side of the conveyer belt.  
  
His face is on fire from embarrassment. There’s no one behind him, so they have the time, but he feels compelled to leave. It’s almost as if he’s supposed to be going somewhere to do something important, and each second standing there having an idle conversation is worsening his chances to do it.  
  
She shrugs, “I did the same thing. Today is my first day back actually. All I got was a ‘cheer up’ though.”  
  
Unsurprisingly, he doesn’t feel better, but he doesn’t regret saying it.  
  
“I’m sorry.” Baekhyun meets her eyes again.  
  
“It’s okay. He was an asshole. I cried it out for a few days and I’m over it.”  
  
Baekhyun shuffles his feet and looks out through the glass doors to his right. He’s rooted to his spot.  
  
If Chanyeol was an asshole he could cry about it and quickly move on, everything would be easier. He wouldn’t feel so guilty and empty. Their lack of closure could have a lot to do with his current feelings, but that’s not right either.  
  
That isn’t Chanyeol.  
  
Chanyeol isn’t perfect. He’s stubborn, forgetful, hot-headed, and argumentative; but he’s also vulnerable, sensitive, and unbelievably kind. He’s the type to buy last-minute gifts because it was reminiscent of him. He cries during romantic-comedies but is unfazed by horror films. After a fight, he always cooked his eggs just right: slightly salty and the edges burned.  
  
“I’m not over it,” Baekhyun mutters to himself.  
  
The checkout person shrugs her shoulders, “Everyone’s different.”  
  
Baekhyun nods, and finally walks forward towards the doors. He gives her a subtle thank you.  
  
He didn’t agree. Everyone is different, but he and Chanyeol are not.  
  
  
  


~~~

  
  
  
  
It’s difficult to carry a bag of candy and alcohol, his school bag, and large box of his student’s letters. With both hands, he holds the box from the bottom with his school bag on top and his bag of bad decisions in his left. The cardboard from the holder routinely jabs into his thigh, and after a few minutes of walking, his wrist begins to cramp from the plastic digging into his palm and the weight of his load unevenly distributed between his two arms.  
  
People are staring, some in concern and others at the odd display, mainly at the overly decorated box. In hindsight, he should have just left it in his locker and just read the letters during his lunch breaks.  
  
Weaving through the crowd is proving difficult as his bag continues to slide from the top of the box, especially considering he doesn’t know where he’s going.  
  
He doesn’t want to return to the apartment as he doesn’t want to lie to Minseok, Kyungsoo, and Jongdae again, and renting a hotel for himself wouldn’t help his situation either.  
  
The thought of returning to his former apartment, the one he shared with Chanyeol, comes to him.  
  
Given how they ended things, it’s a bad idea. He knows Chanyeol is hurting if Mr. Lee’s testimony was any indication and he doubts he would want to see him, let alone allow him refuge so he can sort the feelings he caused.  
  
He told him he didn’t love him the same way anymore.  
  
He can’t take that back.  
  
At this point, he’s not sure if his _confession_ was the truth. He’s blinded by their past, but in the moment, that’s how he felt. He didn’t have the patience to want to work through anything with Chanyeol anymore. He loved him, but he didn’t love him enough, not the way Chanyeol deserves.  
  
The same could go for Chanyeol, and this idea is what fueled a majority of his anger in the moment. Chanyeol refused to make the same effort, one he deserved.  
  
There’s a possibility that he was just angry, and like most of his thoughts weren’t accurate representations of his feelings but just _ideas_ that he had. However, that reality is hard for him to swallow. It hurt to breathe and tears collected at the base of eyes, wetting the comforter Kyungsoo gave him, whenever he found himself entertaining that possibility.  
  
It wasn’t right.  
  
He didn’t make a mistake that night, despite the amount of pain that collects in his chest and the loneliness that took root at the deepest part of being, slowly choking him as if a ton of bricks sat on his chest. Everyone _is_ different, but Chanyeol and himself are not. They’re the same person.  
  
They’re the same person.  
  
Baekhyun stops, having found himself in front of a Chinese restaurant, adjacent to a bus stop. His bag finally loses it dance tittering at the edge of the box and falls in front of him, sliding towards the entrance. He stares at it but makes no move to pick it up.  
  
People walk past him but also make no move to help him nor inquiry what is currently happening.  
  
Chanyeol and himself are the same person. Two pieces of a conjoined entity. Their relationship failed because they both stopped trying. They both found themselves upset about different things with the same rooted problem. He hated it whenever Chanyeol would go out with his friends more often than they would spend time together or take extra hours at the veterinary clinic he worked at despite them not needing the money. Chanyeol hated it whenever he would lounge around the house, and never clean, often too absorbed on one thing such as gaming, and after getting his job as a teaching assistant, grading papers and coming up with lesson plans.  
  
He lacked an unwavering devotion to their relationship, because he felt Chanyeol wasn’t as committed as he was.  
  
The fight that thrusted them into this current timeline, Chanyeol told him he never let him love him, at least not the way he wanted. His attempts often flew under the radar, but Baekhyun was tired of squinting his eyes to see it.  
  
Chanyeol begged for a compromise, and in response, he told him he didn’t love him the same way anymore. His confidence in that moment that drained from his limbs is because it never existed. It was pure emotion—frustration of both of them pushing themselves into the same wall instead of making a left, turning around, or starting over again.  
  
Baekhyun turns his gaze to the entrance of the Chinese restaurant. The sign is written in Chinese in white lettering behind a black backdrop, and its designed is inspired by angular modern shapes. The doors are wide open, allowing him to see the dim lighting and the gold accents adorning its red walls. It’s packed full of people only starting their night on the town, an energy he hasn’t felt in months radiating from it. He returns to his bag in the middle of the entryway. It felt like a taunt. He can’t pick it up, unless he drops something he’s carrying.  
  
Perhaps that was his problem all along.  
  
A group of men crowd the doorway, leaving their table to pay their bill most likely, mirth present by their laughter as they talk amongst themselves, only one stepping forward to the podium. The hostess at her platform, in equal shock and confusion at the strange man who abruptly stopped in the middle of the sidewalk with a large box in his hand, is now covered by their backs, most likely unaware of his presence.  
  
He moves the box under his arm, his hand gripping the bottom, sets his bag of groceries on the ground, and walks forward towards his bag. From the corner of his eye, he sees one of the men move to the outer circle of the rest of the men and then does a double take. He maneuvers himself behind the other men of his party and walks towards Baekhyun.  
  
The man’s shoes come into view, a pair of worn black vans with a brown smudge on the left shoe. Baekhyun freezes, his gaze glued to the ground.  
  
“I can get that for you.”  
  
His voice is deep, and the way it caresses Baekhyun’s ears, eliciting a shiver to crawl up his spine, he feels the box slipping from his hands. He couldn’t breathe and he hated the way his heart is beating erratically in chest in fear and in excitement.  
  
Baekhyun raises his gaze slowly, unwillingly to make the connection. He recognizes those shoes because after a long day of work when he saw them kicked aside at the entryway, he knew he came home early. He knew those pair of black sweatpants. He folded them every week while sitting on the floor of his former living room. The man’s thick fingers that’s grasping his school bag were familiar because those were the same ones that held him at night.  
  
With a swallow, Baekhyun picks up his gaze and is met with the same round eyes he loved staring into, the mouth he loved kissing, the lips he loved biting, the cheeks he frequently wiped tears from with the pads of his fingers, and the black hair he ran his fingers through before falling asleep.  
  
A part of him wanted to mock fate for having them run into each other like this. It was an evitable. They lived in the same city, in the same area, and had similar friend groups, but he didn’t want to run into him like this. Not with his aura lacking its vibrance, not during an emotional meltdown where he started to realize things, and not in front of people—let alone strangers.  
  
Chanyeol’s eyes widen in surprise and his face flushes. Despite the blush, his skin is pale and there are dark circles around his eyes. Regardless of the baggy clothes, he looks thin. He grips the brown leather bag and his lips part.  
  
He hated how much he missed Chanyeol’s face, how he had to crane his neck to meet his eyes, and how short he was next to him. It felt like a forgotten memory, just on the brink of being unable to remember it before it returned in a rush, enveloping him with feelings he’s no longer familiar with.  
  
He missed him and he knew there was nothing he could do to stop.  
  
Rationally, he should just run. Chanyeol will return the bag to him—probably stick it in Minseok, Kyungsoo, and Jongdae’s mailbox. Perhaps contact one of them and complete the transaction that way, but he can’t. Just like in the grocery store, despite the anxiety of missing something—needing to be somewhere else, there’s a force keeping him there.  
  
Its pull is unforgiving and its gravity consuming.  
  
“Chanyeol,” Baekhyun whispers. His initial fear of seeing Chanyeol like this, so soon, is replaced with embarrassment and shame. A divine force is giving him another chance to make things right between them, one he doesn’t deserve. He can’t stomach that responsibility. He can barely function himself, let alone atone for what he did to them. Any chance they had of getting back together was gone the moment he uttered those words, a lie or not. He forcibly gave them an end—he can’t turn their ashes back into a living thing; a plant that must be watered and nurtured with love and patience.  
  
His heartbeat is loud in his ears as it picks away at the remaining sanity he had left.  
  
He should at least tell Chanyeol thank you, and quickly end the awkward confrontation. Maybe seeing each other again would be enough in terms of closure. Maybe he should eliminate any possibility of them ever reconciling, even as acquaintances. Make Chanyeol hate him if he didn’t already.  
  
But that didn’t feel right.  
  
He doesn’t want Chanyeol to hate him. _He_ doesn’t want to hate Chanyeol.  
  
Chanyeol opens his mouth to speak, but the group exits the restaurant, now surrounding Chanyeol in surprise.  
  
Baekhyun doesn’t recognize any of these men, but he assumes these are the guys Chanyeol hung out with as he sat in their apartment waiting for him to come home during their _cold_ periods.  
  
“Hey Chanyeol, we paid the bill. Funny you had to leave all of a sudden as soon as it was time to take care of the check,” The man on his right says, playfully slapping Chanyeol’s shoulder. Despite his harsh words, there’s a fondness in his tone and a smile on his face to match it.  
  
Said man on Chanyeol’s right catches Baekhyun staring. He’s as tall as Chanyeol, and better dressed in a pair of dark wash jeans and a button-up in comparison to Chanyeol’s sweats, t-shirt, and sneakers. His hair is combed into an updo while Chanyeol wears his bangs in his face, the wispy strands resting on top of his eyebrows. A look of realization overcomes this man’s features, his eyes widening a fraction.  
  
Baekhyun scans the other two members of the group, on Chanyeol’s left; they both share a knowing glance.  
  
Baekhyun’s body warms up, sweat collecting on his armpits and the weight of the box make his wrists ache. He’s colored in shame. These men, as nice as they seem, know who he is and what he did to Chanyeol. He’s never been the type to care too much if someone disliked them, often ignoring any instance of passive aggressiveness, but he’s never felt as vulnerable as this. Pathetic isn’t a strong enough word to describe who he is. He hurt their friend in the worse way possible sans cheating.  
  
He swallows hard, his tongue dry and sticking to the roof of his mouth, “Chan—”  
  
“—Can we talk?” Chanyeol blurts, almost pleading, startling the three men around him.  
  
The men then stare at Baekhyun in mild curiosity, the two on Chanyeol’s left who are taller but don’t quite reach Chanyeol’s height, whispering to each other.  
  
Talking is a dangerous topic, especially in the mind state that he’s in. He’s unsure of what he wants, how to break this cycle he and Chanyeol found themselves in, and why they found each other again today. More so, in the past talking led them back into a relationship which only repeats the cycle. Not only could Baekhyun not put Chanyeol through that again, breaking his heart only to take him back then break his heart again, but he can’t withstand not knowing who he is. The more they force something that just won’t work, the harder it’ll be for them to make that decision to end things indefinitely.  
  
They shouldn’t talk. Neither should have anything to say. At most, he could apologize for putting Chanyeol through this, but it won’t fix him, and it won’t alleviate any of his guilt.  
  
Baekhyun’s lips flatten into a line, uncharacteristically shy in front of Chanyeol, “Okay.”  
  
  
  


~~~

  
  
  
  
The _soju_ burns Baekhyun’s taste buds, settling in his stomach, muting the favor of his _soondae._  
  
He’s not quite sure how they ended up at a _Pojangmacha_ , or whose idea it was to go to one, but the privacy of having their own table is welcomed. This one in particular is packed, only a couple of tables free of inhabitants and the air is rich with the smell of food and smoke. Sitting across from Chanyeol like this reminds him of their happier moments, visiting the stall close to their apartment in their pajamas when neither could be bothered to make anything they had in the refrigerator. These memories are comforting, a subtle reminder that there was a time they _worked_ , and he could visit these moments again, not yet lost like his other forgotten memories. It also hurts knowing that this will only be a moment he can relive for a short while after being stimulated on a whim, and as he moves forward, will fade as his other memories he told himself he would never let go of. Their previous experiences, which he could enjoy in some form, are no longer the same as he remembered them. They’re hollow shells of what they used to be and he’s scraping the inside just to get enough of a taste of their past.  
  
The atmosphere is thick between them, Baekhyun’s appetite spoiled before he decided on a dish. He’s not sure why he ordered anything at all as he’s never hungry in moments like these.  
  
Chanyeol leans back in the plastic chair, his eyes glazed and staring at the bottle of soy sauce at the center of the red plastic table. He moves to take a sip of his bottle of _soju_ but regains his previous posture, his eyes now a cloudy cosmos hidden beneath a storm. His hair is straighter than what Baekhyun remembers, falling into his eyes like a disobedient child.  
  
This Chanyeol reminds him of when they first met in college while searching for the same textbook for an introduction to modern literature course: long, thin, and unmatured. Unlike that Chanyeol, he witnessed him grow into himself, watched him learn what he liked, and encouraged him to find his true passions. This Chanyeol regressed, probably trying to understand his new identity now they aren’t together anymore.  
  
Baekhyun takes another mouthful of his _soju_ , the burn of the acid becoming less corrosive and blooming into a tingle he didn’t want to chase.  
  
He’s not a heavy drinker, neither of them are.  
  
At Chanyeol’s continued silence, he picks at his half-eaten blood sausage, jabbing his chopsticks into the flesh of one of the bites. He digs the entails out onto his plate, hollowing a place in the middle, and pushes them to one side. He slides the mix of vegetables and animal flesh to the edge of the plate to see the smooth off-white ceramic underneath—cleaning it. The cadence from the other patrons talking avidly, the sizzle of the cart, and the clink of his chopsticks against his plate is the only noise between them. In part, he wanted to ask Chanyeol to get on with it so he could fixate on his own internal shortcomings, but maybe his silence is for the best. If Chanyeol wanted to talk so they can get back together, he’s not confident he could break Chanyeol’s heart again. In honestly, he’s not sure how he would react. Depending on the moment, he might urge they need to stop feeding into each other interdependence but in another he might break down from the weight of ignoring his true feelings: he’s miserable and he’s tired of waiting it out because it shouldn’t be this hard. He shouldn’t be craving someone’s presence as much as he does. Getting over someone isn’t supposed to be easy, he knew it was going to hurt, but being with Chanyeol wasn’t his morning coffee or a favorite snack from the store, he was his right arm—perhaps even the blood that runs through his veins and the oxygen he breathes into his lungs.  
  
Usually, if he found himself tied between two things, he knew it meant he didn’t want either—but this isn’t an issue of being unable to decide what he wants more, rather it’s a decision pertaining to what’s the best for their relationship and themselves as individuals.  
  
“My mom is sick,” Chanyeol speaks suddenly, his voice guttural and monotone.  
  
Baekhyun looks up from his plate, his mouth agape, unable to process the formation of words. The smell of cooked meat that comforted him at first is nauseating, the smoke that hangs in the air makes his lungs itch, and the sizzle of the grill towards the front of the shack and the chatter of their neighbors is loud, disrupting his ability to think. He watches Chanyeol carefully, waiting for a twitch of an eyebrow or the perk of his lips—letting him know it was a sick joke and a cheap poly to get his attention, but he continues to stare at the bottle of soy sauce, his arms resting on his thighs.  
  
“Are you okay—Is she going to be okay?” Baekhyun stammers, more alert and the thump of his heart masking any rationality he had left.  
  
His first fear is cancer. It’ll be a difficult journey but depending on the type, she could beat it and he knows Chanyeol’s typical unwavering optimism could survive something like this, at least enough to save face in public.  
  
His following fear is she’s dying.  
  
Guilt rises in his throat, choking him, at the possibility of Chanyeol trying to reach out to him this entire time. When he initially blocked him, he did it so he wouldn’t be tempted with getting back together with him, but it was a selfish decision that only isolated Chanyeol. He’s not his only support system—those men he went out to dinner with a clear indication of that, but he’s been the only one who could pull him back down to the world of rationality. He left him on his own, letting the current of his emotions whisk him away and leave him to float above the clouds where destruction was eminent.  
  
At Chanyeol’s prolonged silence, he takes another sip of his _soju_ , cursing to himself at how shaky his hands are and finishes the remainder of the bottle. The glass bottle clacks loudly against the table as he sets it down. It wasn’t a wise decision since he hasn’t eaten since lunch and it’s pushing 6pm, but he doesn’t want to deal with his feelings. Even more, he didn’t know how to express them.  
  
“The doctor diagnosed her with Lupus,” Chanyeol whispers.  
  
With a half sigh of relief, Baekhyun closes his eyes and leans into his chair, the tumbling anxiety exiting his body with his next exhale. Lupus is still potentially life-threatening, but it wasn’t the worst-case scenario, she wasn’t going to die, at least not anytime soon. She had more time, and most importantly, Chanyeol had more time with her. He opens his eyes and Chanyeol is now leaning forward, his arms on the table, his fists closed. His eyes are downcast, and his lips are parted, the curve of his lower lip shining despite the shotty lighting the tent is installed with, hanging above their heads.  
  
Chanyeol continues, albeit quietly, “Dad called me from the hospital telling me she fell I…I’ve never heard him sound so scared before—I really thought that maybe she could’ve…” He closes his mouth, his frown deepening. In that moment, Baekhyun has never seen Chanyeol so afraid and vulnerable. There’s a childlike innocence in his movements, the way he slides his hands from the table and his shoulders hunched, almost like he’s craving warmth.  
  
Baekhyun swallows thickly. Chanyeol needed him, and he wasn’t there.  
  
Chanyeol eyes his drink for a moment before taking a sip of it. He recoils from the taste, his lips puckering but he finishes it and places it on the plastic table next to Baekhyun’s.  
  
“H-how long have you known?” Baekhyun adds. His head is swimming and his face feels warm despite the evening chill.  
  
“A few weeks.”  
  
“Do they have it under control? Will she be okay?”  
  
Chanyeol meets Baekhyun’s stare, his eyes uncertain and unavailable, “She’s out of the hospital, I know they ran some tests on her kidneys that came out okay, but Dad told me she’s having a hard time getting around, so the restaurant has been closed since she was admitted.” After a beat he adds, “I thought about quitting my job and returning home.”  
  
Baekhyun’s eyes widen a fraction and he sits in his seat with proper posture, alert.  
  
Chanyeol continues, answering Baekhyun’s next question before he had the mind to formulate it, “With Yoora studying abroad, I’m the only one who can do something.”  
  
Baekhyun opens his mouth to reply but shuts it. They’re his parents, and he should take care of them when they’re in need, but he didn’t want him to leave. Weeks ago, he might have put up a front that he didn’t care, even pretended to be happy so he could be happy about Chanyeol forcibly leaving his life.  
  
They’re not together, and they can’t get back together—he’s accepted this, he had to.  
  
“Do you need another _soju?_ ” An older man in a red apron stops by their table, pulling Baekhyun from his thoughts. The man’s wrinkles are set deep into his face but has a full head of black hair. He collects the two empty _soju_ bottles and places them on a tray with other dirty dishes.  
  
“Yes,” Chanyeol slurs slightly. The tips of his ears are red.  
  
After the man leaves, Baekhyun comments quietly, “You’re drunk.”  
  
“Just tipsy,” Chanyeol shrugs his shoulders.  
  
“Did you drink at dinner with your friends?”  
  
“Only a couple.”  
  
“Chanyeol,” Baekhyun reprimands softly.  
  
“I could tell you the same thing, plus you have that six-pack in your bag,” Chanyeol points to Baekhyun’s legs sticking out from the sides of the table. Under his chair is the box his students made for him and his “groceries” from earlier.  
  
“I bought it for the others.” The lie is smooth on his tongue.  
  
At the mention of his roommates, Chanyeol frowns slightly, the corners of his mouth deepening. After a moment he says, “How are they?”  
  
“Who?” A haze falls over Baekhyun. He’s not feeling drunk, at least not yet, but the rose-tinted lens is starting to take over his senses.  
  
“Minseok and the rest,” Chanyeol states quietly.  
  
“They’re okay—super busy so I don’t see them as much.”  
  
“Ah,” Chanyeol nods to himself.  
  
Baekhyun knows Chanyeol is aware he’s staying with them, as that’s the returning address for his checks, but he never questioned if Chanyeol and others still spoke. He assumed they never talked about Chanyeol in front of him for his benefit; however, he knows they would have told him about Chanyeol’s mom.  
  
Unless they don’t know about it either.  
  
“Have you spoken to them?”  
  
“Minseok, Jongdae, and Kyungsoo?”  
  
Baekhyun nods.  
  
“Not really, no.”  
  
Baekhyun opens his mouth to ask _why aren’t you guys talking, did something happen,_ but thinks better of it. From what he could recall, they seemed okay while they were dating. Their last breakup was explosive, and he did bad mouth him to them, but he always had in the past and he didn’t notice a strain between them.  
  
The older man returns with two bottles of _soju_ and places them on the table.  
  
“Thank you,” Chanyeol replies before returning his attention to Baekhyun. His demeanor darkens. He opens one of the bottles of liquor, but this time pours it onto one of the shot glasses on the table. After finishing his shot, he rolls his shoulders and sighs.  
  
Baekhyun opens the other bottle of alcohol, pours it into a glass, and takes a shot. The burn is now a slight sizzle and he doesn’t hate the taste of it. He leans back into his seat, his limbs now more relaxed. He’s incredibly warm and comfortable, the liquor simmering in his belly.  
  
He wishes he could say the same about his mind. It felt as if a cloud formed in his head, shadowing his thoughts, leaving him blind, but he knows they still exist—can feel them to an extent. He feels awkward sitting with Chanyeol like this, but he would be okay if they continued on for the end of time, in a never-ending limbo where people come and go and they sit at this table, enjoying the other’s company without a word muttered between them.  
  
“I,” Chanyeol starts slowly, his face noticeably flushed, and his eyebrows pushed together in concentration, “wanted to tell you about my mom, but that’s not the only reason why I wanted to talk.”  
  
Baekhyun nods along, feeling lightheaded. He watches as Chanyeol’s lips part and his tongue wets his bottom lip.  
  
“Her being sick made me think about a lot of things,” Chanyeol stutters, “After the initial shock, I started to think about us.”  
  
“Chanyeol,” Baekhyun sighs softly, his name sweet on his lips. He sits up in the chair, the plastic scratching against the concrete.  
  
“I’m not going to ask for us to get back together,” Chanyeol says suddenly. “I’m going to accept your feelings.”  
  
Baekhyun’s lips flatten into a line. He’s not sure if he can accept his own feelings. The only thing he’s sure of is he gave up trying to figure out who they were as a couple. He couldn’t take the constant back and forth and petty arguments. However, feeling frustrated and no longer wanting to be with someone is two different things, and it’s something he doesn’t want to think about—at least not now.  
  
He pours himself another shot and takes it, the glass clinking against the table as he sets it down with more force than he intended.  
  
Chanyeol mutters, “I don’t want to talk about that.” His voice is raw and Baekhyun winces to himself, the image of Chanyeol quietly moving to their kitchen to only stare at the refrigerator after his confession returning to him. “But I started to question morality. Just like my mom got sick, anyone of us can—I could die. I feel I should live my life without any regrets, so that’s why I wanted to talk to you.” Chanyeol breaks their eye contact, opting to look at Baekhyun’s blood sausage, “I know we’ve been through a lot. We’ve said a lot of things and done a lot of things,” His lips flatten into a line and he blinks, his eyes sparkling. He meets Baekhyun’s gaze, his voice wavering slightly, “I miss you so much. Even sitting here, like this, I’m so happy.”  
  
Baekhyun’s lips part, at a loss for words. His heart is thumping in his chest at the confession and his palms sweat at the feeling blossoming within him, it’s warm and it’s welcomed. It’s the first day of summer that felt like the first time Chanyeol told him he loved him, his body tingles like the first time Chanyeol touched him, and it reminded him of the bliss—their happier moments, he would feel when he came home from work and he found Chanyeol in their kitchen, reading a magazine, the smile he could never control growing on his face when they first made eye contact. He nods slightly and whispers, his words tumbling out before he had an ability to process them, “I miss you too.”  
  
He missed them in their better moments where their fights were few in number and far in-between.  
  
Chanyeol’s eyes widen in a faction, the tears slumbering on his waterline more apparent.  
  
Baekhyun isn’t sure what he’s doing. He does miss being around Chanyeol, he can’t refute that. He can’t stop thinking about him either, most of his actions either being a result of not being around him or an effort to forget him. They’ve been together for a while, so he knew moving on from Chanyeol was going to be difficult but telling him something like this—despite it being true—isn’t going to do anything for them, but he didn’t regret telling him that. That pull he felt since they parted, the one he consistently ignored, isn’t present.  
  
He rests his head in his hand, his elbow on the table and his palm covering his mouth. He studies the stains on the side of the tent instead of seeing that hope he put into Chanyeol’s eyes, what he always wanted to see.  
  
“Living in our apartment,” Chanyeol’s voice cracks and Baekhyun closes his eyes, “sleeping in our bed—it’s so hard. Those first few weeks, I wanted to call you and tell you I was sorry and beg you to come home.”  
  
Baekhyun regains proper posture but he stares at his lap. The initial bliss from the alcohol has opened doors he shut months ago. He knows what Chanyeol is feeling because he found himself wanting to do the same thing. He would write up text messages while under his blankets after Kyungsoo went to sleep, asking for Chanyeol to take him back, which is why he eventually blocked him. He grips his thighs, the fabric of his dress pants smooth beneath his palms.  
  
When he hears a sniffle, he picks up his gaze and Chanyeol is crying, albeit silently. Tears run down his cheeks and drip from his jaw.  
  
“Chanyeol—” Baekhyun whispers, urging him to look at him.  
  
“When I got the call from dad, that was the day I realized our bedroom doesn’t smell like you anymore. That’s when I knew I was truly alone, and that everyone I hold dear could walk out of my life.” Chanyeol rubs his eyes with his forearm and swallows a sob. He sniffles, “I know that you don’t feel the same way, but I,” He chokes on a sob, a fresh batch of tears flowing down his face, “I can’t live like this anymore.” He lowers his head and covers his mouth with the back of his hand, his shoulders shaking. Small whimpers of “I can’t—”  
  
Baekhyun stands, wobbling for a few moments, takes out some bills from his wallet and throws them onto the table. He picks up his box, his school bag, and his groceries and sets them on the table. He walks to Chanyeol’s side of the table and helps him stand. After collecting his things, he urges Chanyeol out of the tent by pushing him along with his shoulder, his hushed cries of “I can’t live without you,” grazing his ears like a wet kiss.  
  
  
  


~~~

  
  
  
  
Baekhyun stands next to Chanyeol in front of the sink in the personal bathroom of a nearby convenience store. On the counter next to him is the box, his groceries, and his school bag. He has a package of tissues he bought from the store and rips out a few sheets. Chanyeol stands directly in front of the sink, his head hung low with one hand supporting him on the lip and the other wiping the tears from his face. The ends of his fringe are wet and rest on the front side of his hand in ununiform swirls.  
  
“Chanyeollie,” Baekhyun recites softly, offering the tissues which Chanyeol takes.  
  
He knew Chanyeol was an emotional drunk, the passion he usually has while sober turning into vulnerability—but despite seeing him cry like this before, it hurts from the bottom of his being like a weight is hanging from the base of his throat, threatening to pull him down along with it. It’s because Chanyeol is crying over him and suffering from the consequential stress of experiencing a breakup while his mom is sick. A breakup that could have been handled better, and one that shouldn’t have ended how it did. This is different from taking Chanyeol into his arms, kissing his fears away and telling him that everything will be okay, because it won’t, at least in the long run. Baekhyun no longer has a right to be so intimate with him, he gave it up and turned his back on it the day he moved out of their apartment. He can’t help Chanyeol anymore. They’re supposed to be strangers who knew too much about each other and nibble on old memories when the night is too long and the pressure of being alone is too much.  
  
He stares at his reflection in the mirror, his cheeks as red as they feel and his eyes glossed over, intoxication washing over him. He then watches Chanyeol’s, his hand whose knuckles are pink at the joint while the rest of his skin is pale, covers his face save for the tip of his nose and his mouth. Tears continue to stream down his jaw, and his lips twist in an effort to swallow his cries.  
  
The bright overhead light flickers, the brown spots and the dust that plagues the corners of the extremely white bathroom muted. The buzzing remains constant, initially drilling now fades beneath Chanyeol’s sniffles and hiccups.  
  
Baekhyun rests a hand on Chanyeol’s shoulder. His fingers slide across his broad back to his nape, and rests on the collar of his t-shirt. He’s now standing closer to him, the package of tissues wedged between them. His body tingles in an excitement he wishes he didn’t enjoy. There’s a comfort from being able to stand next to Chanyeol like this, feel him breathe and experience the warmth of his body. Chanyeol exists, _they_ exist. He takes two more sheets of tissue from the package and hands them to Chanyeol, his fingers returning to their spot at his nape.  
  
He’s selfish for this. He couldn’t let Chanyeol cry like that in public, let alone around other people, but for him to revel in this moment, knowing he’s going against everything he painstakingly built for the last few months, is selfish. He should have taken Chanyeol home and left, resumed their conversation when they weren’t under the influence of alcohol.  
  
But he didn’t want to do that.  
  
“Chanyeol,” Baekhyun whispers, his words finally slurring, outing him for his current deterioration of his sobriety, “Hey, look at me, please.”  
  
Chanyeol shakes his head, wiping his face with his forearm. The wetness of the tears glistening under the harsh white light.  
  
Baekhyun sets the package of tissues on the counter and with his free hand, takes Chanyeol’s arm that’s currently obstructing his face. Chanyeol doesn’t fight him, but his head still hangs over the sink, his hair covering his face.  
  
“Chanyeollie,” Baekhyun tries again, still holding Chanyeol’s wrist that now rests on the counter, “it’s okay.”  
  
Chanyeol shakes his head, “No,” his voice gruff.  
  
He wasn’t wrong. It isn’t okay, nothing is okay and hasn’t been okay. Furthermore, as they stand there, together, things become less okay. They’re dancing on a slender edge, a tightrope they can’t balance on forever. Eventually, they’re going to stumble, taking the other down with them, a fall that will be exhilarating and will bring that pleasurable rush to their veins that blinds them from anything and everything, but once they hit the ground it’s going to hurt. An ache will replace the ecstasy of sharing the plummet together and basking in the adrenaline that encompassed the plunge will be a memory Baekhyun hates to remember. He’ll ask himself why he did it as he climbs back to the peak, waiting for Chanyeol to catch up. He always did.  
  
“Is that why you won’t look at me?” Baekhyun whispers. He rests his head on Chanyeol’s arm, feeling suddenly tired. A warmth grows in the pit of his belly, taking over that previous pull of guilt that shadows his thoughts that constantly reminded him why this scene shouldn’t happen, why it’s going to hurt when he doesn’t have the benefit of experiencing his feelings in their raw state.  
  
Chanyeol grips the lip of the sink, a sob breaking past his lips. He whispers, “It’s not okay.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
It was a dumb question, he knew why it wasn’t okay, but a part of him wanted to hear Chanyeol say it, wanted him to throw those same words back at him so they could be even.  
  
Chanyeol wipes his face with the back of his hand farthest from Baekhyun. He hiccups and stands at full height. Baekhyun can finally see how Chanyeol’s eyes are swollen, tears still cascading down his cheeks, the redness of his nose and the pinkness of his lips. He closes his eyes, a fresh wave of tears falling down his face and staining his shirt.  
  
Baekhyun grabs the package of tissues, taking a few more sheets, and urges Chanyeol to face him by grabbing his arm. With his free hand, he pulls Chanyeol down to his height and cleans his face. He gently wipes Chanyeol’s cheeks and jaw then moves to his nose.  
  
“Blow,” Baekhyun commands quietly, his eyes lulling. His heart is pounding despite how often he took care of Chanyeol like this. The subtle puffs of breath that hits his cheeks makes him breathless, and its warmth makes his face tingle. He’s hyperaware of their closeness, something he thought he no longer had access to.  
  
As Chanyeol blows his nose, Baekhyun counts the moles on his face, ones he loved to trace with the pads of his fingers. With a free hand, he pushes Chanyeol’s fringe from his face, freeing his hair strands from his eyes. His eyelashes are wet but long as they hover over his cheeks.  
  
“Chanyeol, what were you trying to tell me earlier?” Baekhyun pods softly, already knowing the answer, but he wanted to hear Chanyeol say it. He needs him, especially when his mother’s health isn’t the best.  
  
Chanyeol shouldn’t want him. He was supposed to protect his heart. When they decided to take that step and become boyfriends, he promised to take care of it. It was something he was supposed to nurture and inspire it to grow, not break it when the pressure from it all was too much to bear for a brief moment. He’s not allowed to pick up its pieces, glue it back together, and take it into his arms again as if nothing happened.  
  
No matter how frustrated Chanyeol made him, how angry he got when Chanyeol put his own desires over his feelings, and how lonely he felt when Chanyeol had his “full” of him and looked for the stars without him by his side, Chanyeol never told him that his feelings wavered. That security and trust he confided in during these moments was always there for him. He took that from Chanyeol.  
  
“You,” Chanyeol whispers, his eyes opening. They’re bloodshot and dull, missing its spark, “I want to stay by you.”  
  
“Why?” Baekhyun’s hand slides from Chanyeol’s forehead to the side of his face, cupping his jaw, while the other rests on the counter. He tugs lose strands behind his ears.  
  
Fresh tears gather at Chanyeol’s bottom lids, his eyes becoming glossy, “Because I love you.”  
  
Baekhyun watches as the first tear slips from his cheeks, making a path for those that follow. Even like this, Chanyeol is gorgeous, as he suffers another heartbreak—the same heartbreak he’ll experience routinely until one of them decide enough is enough—a heartbreak he caused and one he can’t fix. One that’s making him relive old feelings and suggests that he overcomplicated their relationship while trying to simplify it.  
  
“But I know that…” Chanyeol trails off, his voice breaking mid-way. He closes his eyes and cries softly, tears flowing down his cheeks again and his shoulders hunching up.  
  
He attempts to pull away from Baekhyun’s grasp, turning towards the direction of the toilet.  
  
Baekhyun holds Chanyeol’s jaw firmly, keeping him in place. It hurt to see Chanyeol like this, the pain stabbing away at his heart making him crave some sort of release. His throat is tight, his words unable to travel through, and his eyes are heavy, tears threatening to spill past his eyelids.  
  
He wipes a tear from Chanyeol’s eyes with the pad of his thumb, only for it to be replaced with two more.  
  
Chanyeol holds Baekhyun’s waist as their foreheads touch, his cries growing in frequency. “It…it hurts,” he tries as he’s interrupted by hiccups, “I can’t say it—I…”  
  
Baekhyun takes the sides of Chanyeol’s face and gently pulls him down to his level. He hesitates for a moment, watching as each tear streams down his face, disrupting the path of smooth skin, and kisses the apple of his cheeks, the saltness invading his mouth through the blur of the _soju_.  
  
Chanyeol stills, pulling back just enough so their eyes could meet but still maintain their closeness. His eyes are wide as more tears flow down his face.  
  
Baekhyun doesn’t have an answer for him. He could barely find reasons for his own actions let alone explain what his motives were. Yes, he wants Chanyeol to stop crying so they can resume their conversation, but he also wishes they can make something definite about their relationship versus bouncing between two opposite poles. After several trials, he learned that they can’t be together, but as time moves forward, they can’t be a part either—or he doesn’t want them to be.  
  
He wants things to work with Chanyeol, he always did.  
  
He kisses Chanyeol’s other cheek, his lips lightly pressing against him, his fingertips tingling in excitement like they were stealing each other’s first kiss behind the bleachers. He travels upwards and presses against the corners of Chanyeol’s eyes. His thumbs massage the sides of Chanyeol’s face in a slow circular motion, the way he knows he likes, as he moves to the other eye.  
  
He’s sorry and doesn’t know how to fix it. He’s not sure if he can fix it.  
  
“Baekhyun?” Chanyeol whispers, his breath warming Baekhyun’s neck.  
  
Baekhyun’s eyes close as Chanyeol’s lips tease his neck, a warmth pooling in gut, one the alcohol only heightened. He moves to the curve of Chanyeol’s cheek, this time the kiss a bit more forceful than his previous touches that were akin to a butterfly’s wing against his skin. He then moves to his jaw, partaking in the last remnants of Chanyeol’s breakdown, his tongue cleaning its aftermath.  
  
“Baekhyun…” Chanyeol trails off, his voice becoming airy.  
  
Baekhyun detaches with a smack, hovering between the corner of Chanyeol’s mouth and the swell of his cheek. His mouth buzzes with an excitement he hasn’t felt in a long time and a heat rises beneath his skin, an ache in the apex of his thighs born from it. He presses forward to kiss Chanyeol’s jaw, relishing in the way his heartrate picked up, his veins throbbing under his palms, when Chanyeol gasps softly. Baekhyun inhales when Chanyeol’s grip tightens on his waist, pushing them together.  
  
He presses his lips against Chanyeol’s, a spark igniting within him at the slight touch. One he was afraid of all these months. Something that always remained constant between them no matter how hard he tried to ignore it and tell others it died. No matter how much he wished he could turn their switch off.  
  
He’s still in love with Chanyeol. Perhaps he knew that when he left their apartment that night as he closed the door and suddenly felt alone. That was the moment he felt he took the wrong path, running blindly in the wrong direction hoping it was right. He’s not done with Chanyeol, and a part of him, one that he pushed down and often muted with alcohol knew he never will be. A piece of him will always want to have Chanyeol like this to himself.  
  
Chanyeol doesn’t kiss him back.  
  
Baekhyun pulls back and stares at Chanyeol’s shirt, his face warm in embarrassment and intoxication. His hands slip from Chanyeol’s jaw to his shirt, his fingers holding onto the fabric. The buzzing from the overhead light increases in volume, probably from never being on this long, the sound of it scrambling his already disorganized thoughts. His heart pounds in his chest, his palms sweat as they grip Chanyeol’s shirt.  
  
He doesn’t deserve Chanyeol. Running into him on a whim and getting drunk isn’t going to solve their problems as they never did in the past. Just like it wasn’t fair to him when Chanyeol refused to meet his feelings halfway or got angry over something trivial, often saying something stupid in the process, it’s not fair for him to push Chanyeol away then pull him back whenever there’s a crack in his resolve.  
  
He meets Chanyeol’s gaze, albeit shyly, finding that the taller was already staring at him, his eyes glazed due to the fog of the alcohol. Under the harsh light, he can see the softer browns that frame his irises in sharp specks, ones that were absent at the _Pojangmacha_ and in front of the Chinese restaurant.  
  
But there’s still something holding Chanyeol back. A wall that hasn’t fallen where a piece of him is hiding. A piece he saw in brief moments at the shack as his first batch of tears streamed from his face.  
  
“Why did you kiss me?” Chanyeol whispers, his eyes searching for an answer that Baekhyun didn’t have.  
  
Baekhyun’s stare drops to Chanyeol’s lips, oddly fixated on the way they formed each syllable, before meeting Chanyeol’s eyes again. He swallows thickly as he’s swept beneath a layer of warmth as it grows and spreads upwards, his mouth tingling from their last touch.  
  
Their lips reunite again, Chanyeol taking the plunge. Just like the first, it’s gentle, their mouths overlapping to test the waters of how far they could swim before they were taken under, water filling their lungs and they found themselves drowning.  
  
Baekhyun breaks the kiss, but only moves a hair’s width away, his words rubbing against Chanyeol’s mouth, “So you would stop crying.” His voice is hoarse and deeper than usual, “And because I wanted to.”  
  
His hands slide up Chanyeol’s chest to settle on his nape.  
  
Their lips meet again, moving against the other as the heat between them builds slowly.  
  
Baekhyun closes his eyes as Chanyeol’s hands slide to his waist, then to his hips. Their lips smack as they find a rhythm, Chanyeol tilting his head, pushing forward to deepen the kiss. Heat continues to rise between them, want engulfing Baekhyun’s previous confusion and guilt to where all he saw was Chanyeol and cared about how their bodies fit together. Chanyeol entraps Baekhyun’s bottom lip into his mouth, sucking on it, and his hands roam lower, fondling his ass. One of Baekhyun’s hands moves to grip Chanyeol’s back from under his armpit, pulling him closer. He gasps when Chanyeol moves to his neck, kissing the junction between his neck and jaw.  
  
“Chan…” Baekhyun pants as he moves his head to side to give Chanyeol more room. He slides his leg between Chanyeol’s thighs, a silent moan falling from his lips as he ruts against him.  
  
Chanyeol unbuttons the first two buttons of his shirt and pushes the fabric down. He sucks on Baekhyun’s clavicle as he pushes their hips together.  
  
Baekhyun grips the edge of the counter and pants hotly when Chanyeol moves to the other side of his neck, nipping the skin. His free hand wanders underneath Chanyeol’s shirt, gripping and scratching the clammy skin. Chanyeol groans as their hips push with more force, their dicks rubbing against each other between their clothes.  
  
Chanyeol grabs Baekhyun’s thighs, placing him on the counter. Their lips attach, tongues reacquainting themselves in the other’s mouth. Baekhyun wraps his arms around Chanyeol’s shoulders, and Chanyeol’s his hips, as they dry hump.  
  
They couldn’t have sex here, let alone make-up sex after a five-month stint in a random bathroom, but Baekhyun couldn’t stop, his hips pushing against Chanyeol’s without much thought. The pleasurable squeeze that started in his groin bloomed into an itch he couldn’t satisfy. His hips roll against Chanyeol’s in a circular motion, the latter breaking the kiss to pant against his ear.  
  
“Not here,” Baekhyun gasps out, his legs wrapping around Chanyeol’s waist.  
  
Chanyeol hums in agreement but makes no move to stop his ministrations.  
  
With each push of their hips, Baekhyun can taste his orgasm as it sits on the horizon and builds, the tension in his body coiling from the amalgamation of stress of missing Chanyeol and the lack of proper release.  
  
There’s a knock at the door. A muffled, “I have other customers, you can’t hog the bathroom all night!” It’s the man who managed the counter and who he bought the tissues from.  
  
Their hips slow to a stop, both staring at the door then each other in mild horror. Baekhyun’s orgasm fades beneath the surface, only his raging erection and the hum it left in his veins as the only reminders that he almost came, in a convenience store bathroom no less.  
  
  
  


~~~

  
  
  
  
The shoe cupboard rattles as Chanyeol backs Baekhyun into it, their mouths attached, the glass bottles of beer clacking against each other from inside the plastic bag. A haze falls over Baekhyun when Chanyeol licks into his mouth, their tongues creating a friction that only heightened his need to be touched. His arms perch themselves onto Chanyeol’s shoulders as he’s lifted on top of the cabinet, the box his students made for him and his school bag falling to the floor in the process.  
  
Chanyeol breaks the kiss, opting to suck more love bites on Baekhyun’s reddening neck, mews escaping from Baekhyun’s parted lips. Chanyeol’s hands rub Baekhyun’s thighs before finding purchase on his ass cheeks. He molds the flesh beneath his palms, gripping it as he grinds his hard-on against the apex of Baekhyun’s thighs.  
  
Baekhyun pants in rhythm to the thuds of the cabinet hitting the wall. His hips push against Chanyeol’s with more rigor when the pleasant buzz of the _soju_ flips into want.  
  
The apartment is dark except for the kitchen light outside of the doorway of the front room, one he often nagged Chanyeol for always leaving on.  
  
The pleasurable coil from before starts to build, one that makes the edges of Baekhyun’s vision feather to the point all he could focus on is _Chanyeol_ and the friction between their bodies; a sensation he would like to experience without the barrier of their clothes.  
  
Chanyeol breaks from the junction of Baekhyun’s neck, opting to moan into his ear as he humps against him in earnest, “Baekhyun…Baekhyun—so good.”  
  
The warmth of Chanyeol’s breath and the pitchiness of his gasps on Baekhyun’s ear causes his groin to tighten in warning, one that spoke of a greater pleasure waiting for him and a reminder that everything could quickly end.  
  
“Chanyeollie—I…I’m gonna—not here,” Baekhyun forces out airily as he jerks and chases each spasm of Chanyeol’s hips. He closes his eyes, unable to resist his budding orgasm. His mouth falls open in a silent moan as he continued to rapidly climb. The ache within him grew as warmth spread through his body in quick ripples. His legs wrap around Chanyeol’s waist and his arms slide under his armpits, gripping his shirt and pulling him closer. He whispers, “I’m gonna cum…fuck.”  
  
Chanyeol slows the movement of his hips until he stops and hides in the crook of Baekhyun’s neck, his breath heavy. Baekhyun sighs in annoyance and relief, his arms dropping to rest on Chanyeol’s hips. The fervor subsides but the ache between his legs remain constant.  
  
Chanyeol nuzzles into Baekhyun’s neck, his lips caressing the skin there. “I want to make love to you,” he slurs as his hands fondle Baekhyun’s thighs, “I want to remember for at least one night,” he kisses his jaw, “and pretend.”  
  
Baekhyun’s eyes threaten to close and his heart skips a beat at Chanyeol’s use of pretend. He knew the alcohol is returning him to his baseline desires, his heart and his dick controlling his actions, but he understood where Chanyeol was coming from and wishes they didn’t have to pretend everything was okay. He wants Chanyeol to love him as he is today, and he love him the same way back.  
  
Their lips meet, Chanyeol angling his head to deepen the kiss. Their lips smack as Baekhyun controls the kiss by placing a hand on Chanyeol’s jaw, reintroducing tongue. The warmth returns, Baekhyun moaning at the vivacity of it. It’s consuming: his mind only able to focus on the way Chanyeol’s tongue fits in his mouth and how much his dick hurts due to the lack of attention.  
  
Chanyeol grips the bottom of Baekhyun’s thighs, the latter’s legs wrapping tighter around his waist in response, and lifts him, his hands now sliding to his bottom.  
  
Their trip to the bedroom is slow, Chanyeol frequently bumping into a wall and the kitchen counter. The kiss breaks when Chanyeol finally reaches the door, he moans into Baekhyun’s ear and grinds himself against him as he searches for the doorknob. Once open, he leads them to the bed, gently placing Baekhyun towards the headboard with him between his legs. Their lips meet once again, the kiss messier and more desperate, Chanyeol unbuttoning Baekhyun’s dress pants and Baekhyun pushing Chanyeol’s sweatpants down his thighs with his ankles.  
  
The room is pitch dark.  
  
“Chanyeollie,” Baekhyun gasps out, “the light.”  
  
Baekhyun can feel the bed shift, the warmth of Chanyeol’s body gone. With a click, the room is partially illuminated from a nearby table side lamp. He can see how debauched Chanyeol is. His hair is messy, and his lips are pink and swollen, a bite on the swell. His sweatpants are at his mid-thigh, his black boxer, with an obvious tent in the front, showing. Baekhyun swallows a moan when Chanyeol takes off his shirt. He’s skinner than what he remembered, his arms and stomach more angular. In response, Baekhyun pushes his dress pants down his legs which Chanyeol takes them the rest of the way off once his shirt and pants are removed. They’re thrown from the side of the bed, joining with Chanyeol’s clothes.  
  
Chanyeol opens the bed side table, the contents in the drawer banging noisily from the action, a sound that motivates Baekhyun to unbutton his shirt and pull it from his frame.  
  
Their lips meet again as Chanyeol pulls Baekhyun’s boxer down his legs, leaving him bare. The latter moans into the kiss and wraps his arms around Chanyeol’s neck. He pushes his hips into Chanyeol, he needs to feel closer, needs to be closer.  
  
Chanyeol’s kisses move from Baekhyun’s lips, to his jaw, then to his chest. His hands rub the underside of his thighs, spreading them wider. Baekhyun gasps when Chanyeol licks around his nipple, the flesh hardening. He kisses the areola then licks the duct. Baekhyun pushes his chest further into his mouth, more warmth pooling in his groin.  
  
When he hears the sound of a cap opening, he leans his head into the pillows and closes his eyes, his breath becoming heavy in anticipation. His breath catches when he can feel a finger prodding at his entrance.  
  
Chanyeol detaches from Baekhyun’s nipple, a string of saliva connecting the two, “Baby, I can’t wait anymore,” his voice is deep and guttural.  
  
The intrusion is painful, Baekhyun’s body rejecting it. He bites his bottom lip as Chanyeol eases the first finger in.  
  
“Does it hurt?” Chanyeol whispers, his finger bottoming out.  
  
Baekhyun nods, but he didn’t want it to stop.  
  
Chanyeol moves to Baekhyun’s other nipple, giving it the same treatment as the first, except he does kitten licks before sucking it entirely, his lips puckering around the flesh. His hand that held Baekhyun’s leg open slides to the other nipple. He rolls the bead between his fingers, the pad of his thumb smoothing over the top of it.  
  
Baekhyun pants softly, his dick throbbing from the lack of attention, and sweat arising to his skin. His hips attempt to rub themselves against Chanyeol’s abdomen to create more friction between them. Finally getting the idea, Chanyeol pumps his finger inside Baekhyun, albeit slowly. He mutters to himself, “You’re so tight.”  
  
Baekhyun meets each thrust of Chanyeol’s finger; the pain is still present but subsiding. His fingers grip the sheets when another finger is introduced. Chanyeol detaches from his chest and sits up, Baekhyun’s ass resting on his thighs. He pushes his two fingers into Baekhyun’s awaiting body, his other hand holding the underside of Baekhyun’s thigh.  
  
Pleasure overtakes Baekhyun, panting in earnest and riding against Chanyeol’s fingers. The ache within him grows, blooming into a desire to cum that threatens to destroy him from the inside out. On a particularly rough thrust, Chanyeol’s fingers curling, he cries out in ecstasy, the fervor from before returning to him. He pushes against Chanyeol’s fingers roughly so his prostrate can be touched again.  
  
“There,” Baekhyun pants, suddenly feeling empty.  
  
Chanyeol moves to cover Baekhyun’s body, their foreheads touching. He introduces his third and final finger, and pumps them, the smack of lube loud between them. Baekhyun grips Chanyeol’s back as he’s pushed further and further to his orgasm. He feels lightheaded as his body thrums in pleasure, taking everything Chanyeol is willing to give him. He moans Chanyeol’s name repeatedly as the heat builds, threatening to pull him under.  
  
Chanyeol removes his fingers and pushes his boxer down his thighs, his dick springing forth, already wet with precum. He lathers himself with lube and presents in front of Baekhyun’s anus, squeezing his girth and supporting himself on his other hand next to Baekhyun’s head. Baekhyun widens his legs and licks his lips, watching as Chanyeol pushes forward, the tip of dick engulfed by his inner walls. At Chanyeol’s moan, he stares at him as his eyes flutter shut, pleasure etched on his features. His lips are parted, and his ears are red. He continues to push forward, moaning _you’re so fucking warm_. He thrusts shallowly, only half-way in, and murmurs, “Fuck, Baekhyunnie.”  
  
The stretch is overwhelming, the initial pleasure morphing into pain, but Baekhyun didn’t want Chanyeol to stop. Each moan and gasp Chanyeol released made his dick throb in delight.  
  
Once Chanyeol bottoms out, he releases another moan of appreciation, his eyes closed and his back arched. After a moment, he whispers, “Good?”  
  
Their eyes meet, Chanyeol’s eyes shining from the soft glow of the bedside lamp with something that was missing at the _Pojangmacha_ and the bathroom. Baekhyun could see Chanyeol for the first time. The dark brown of his eyes is rich and seem to sparkle, the previous sadness that clouded this part of Chanyeol for months is gone.  
  
Baekhyun nods and whispers, shy under Chanyeol’s gaze, “I’m okay.”  
  
They start off slow, Chanyeol sliding his entire length in and out while staring into Baekhyun’s eyes. The bed rocks slightly and the sound of their soft pants fill the room. Pleasure simmers in Baekhyun’s gut, the pot warming but not in danger of spilling over. His heart is in his throat as Chanyeol gazes at him, cheeks flushed, bed hair, and something that’s so authentically Chanyeol present in his eyes. It reminds him of the first time he ever truly looked at Chanyeol and realized how beautiful he was and that he had a spirit to match it.  
  
“I love you,” Chanyeol moans, the pace picking up to where the bed creaks.  
  
Baekhyun moans in response, his heart blossoming at the confession. He could taste the weight of his words, his lower stomach tightening in pleasure as a result. His hands slide to Chanyeol’s shoulders, pulling them closer. The initial pain of the intrusion wans in waves, soon replaced by a stutter of pleasure every time their hips meet. The warmth from before grows from his groin and travels upwards. He’s swimming in a steady but increasing game of back and forth. The melody of the bed squeaking, Chanyeol’s wet pants, and the smack of their hips pulls him further under the cover of inebriation. His eyes threaten to close as the pressure continues to build. He pushes against Chanyeol’s hips so he could reach deeper and find that prized spot that makes him forget his name.  
  
“Look at me,” Chanyeol gasps out, his breathing heavy and his eyes dark. He sits up, one hand grips Baekhyun’s hip and the other holds the underside of his thigh. The pace increases, the headboard hitting against the wall and the bed squeaking nosily. Baekhyun holds onto the sheets to keep himself from sliding up the bed.  
  
Baekhyun’s moans increase as Chanyeol finally stimulates his prostrate. He tries his best to meet him thrust by thrust, his eyes closing from the intense sensations washing over him at once. He pants, wet pleas leaving his lips, “Chanyeol—baby, fuck…There, it’s there—more, I need more.”  
  
Chanyeol returns to his elbows, embracing Baekhyun as he pistons into him. His lips are wet against Baekhyun’s ear as he repeats his name.  
  
Baekhyun’s legs snug up to Chanyeol’s waist and his fingers rake down his back. He cries, “Don’t stop.” The coil in his gut tightens, the tension building within him. One of his hands moves between them to stroke himself. He pants Chanyeol’s name as the heat consumes him and the weight of his orgasm caresses him, urging him to fall.  
  
Chanyeol pulls away so they can make eye contact. His moans attack him like hiccups, his eyes glazed over. He bites his lips when Baekhyun clenches involuntarily, his head falling back. Soft cries of Baekhyun’s name interrupts the rough cadence of the bed squeaking from their weight.  
  
Baekhyun pushes him closer as he continues to climb, his arm aching from stroking himself. He whispers, becoming breathless, “I’m gonna cum…Chanyeol...I’m about to cum.”  
  
Chanyeol moans, his breath airy, “I love you—I love you so fucking much.”  
  
Baekhyun’s orgasm rises and waits behind baited teeth. The pleasure born from the pressure acclimating and his insides being rubbed just right is all consuming as he hits the top and tilters on the edge. He pushes his heels into the small of Chanyeol’s back.  
  
“Baekhyunnie…I’m…I’m cumming,” Chanyeol moans, his hips snapping into Baekhyun’s irregularly.  
  
At the first surge of warmth, Baekhyun cums with a gasp, ecstasy consuming him. Chanyeol moans into Baekhyun’s neck. Baekhyun’s back arches as each wave slams into him, his dick spurting between their bodies. Babbles of Chanyeol’s name, _I like it, yes,_ and _fuck_ escape his parted lips.  
  
With a ragged exhale, the last rush of pleasure flows through his veins as the last gush of Chanyeol’s load enters his body. His body calms, breath heavy. His mind is swimming and it feels like he’s moving through a heavy fog.  
  
Chanyeol stirs on top of him, breathing just as hard and his hips slowing to a stop. Their lips meet in a chaste kiss, smacking as they part. Baekhyun closes his eyes, his body falling into the comfort of the mattress.  
  
“I love you,” Chanyeol whispers, snuggling into Baekhyun’s chest and wrapping his arms around his waist.  
  
“I love you too,” Baekhyun murmurs as he succumbs to sleep.  
  
  
  


~~~

  
  
  
  
Baekhyun opens his eyes slowly and is met with a pitch-dark room, one that was different than the one he was accustomed to while living in Kyungsoo’s room. He searches for the bright green letters of Kyungsoo’s alarm clock but can’t find it. He moves to find his phone that he always left under his pillow to charge, but he can’t move, something around his waist is keeping him in place. He attempts to wiggle free because he felt ungrounded without knowing the time or where he is, and he really needs to pee. He grabs the offending obstacle, and someone grunts behind him, a warm breath on the back of his neck incites the small hairs that line the skin to stand up.  
  
Groggily it says, “No.”  
  
“I need the toilet.”  
  
After a moment, the obstacles releases, something Baekhyun can recognize as hands, “Come back.”  
  
Once freed, Baekhyun rolls from the bed with much difficulty, his thighs and ass sore and some type of crust in-between his upper thighs. He wobbles and finds the door. After exiting the threshold, he enters a semi-dark hallway, a light is on further into what he can assume is an apartment. He opens the door next to him, and to his luck is the bathroom. It’s a journey that seemed repetitive. He turns on the light, the sudden surge of brightness irritating his eyes, them stinging as a result. He stares at his reflection for a moment: his neck is blotchy and red, and his lips are swollen. What looks like bites travel from his neck to his chest and his bangs stick up, partially in his face.  
  
He looks in the direction of the toilet, the seat already up. He moves in front of it and relieves himself with a sigh, the pressure in his belly being released. He looks around the quaint bathroom, primarily the shower curtain to his right. It’s a simple geometric pattern with different uniform lines intersecting—something he would buy and reminds him of something he bought. He then looks at the counter and notices a cup next to the sink with a lone toothbrush. It’s a jarring image because there were always two: one red and the other blue. The sink is bare without it.  
  
His stream dissipates but he remains still.  
  
He’s in his old apartment.  
  
He slept with Chanyeol.  
  
He’s with Chanyeol.  
  
Memories of their tryst return to him in vivid pieces, one moment Chanyeol is crying, then they’re making out on top of the cupboard his mom bought him when they first moved into the apartment, then he’s holding onto Chanyeol with three fingers inside him.  
  
He flushes the toilet, moves to the sink, and washes his hands while staring at his reflection. After drying his hands, he touches the oval shaped bruises on his neck. He’s not sure how he’s going to hide them for work or from Kyungsoo and the others.  
  
He’s not sure how he’s going to face them. They would know who made them as soon as they saw them.  
  
His eyes widen in shock, his stomach heavy and heat rising to his face—he was supposed to meet them at the karaoke bar after work. He looks behind him, only to be met with a lone gray t-shirt hanging from the hook on the back of the door.  
  
He should text them—no, call them.  
  
The adrenaline that rushed through his veins, making him feel twitchy and on high alert, begins to drain from his limbs.  
  
What is he supposed to tell them? The hickeys on his neck that’ll take a tube of concealer to hide, one that he couldn’t fathom trying to buy, would give him away. They probably already knew where he was by the time it was obvious he stood them up for an outing they planned for him.  
  
They weren’t mad at him in the past when he unintentionally threw them aside in favor of being with Chanyeol, what would make this insistence any different? The fact he swore up and down that he wouldn’t take Chanyeol back and that he won’t put up with his behavior anymore?  
  
He grips the edge of the sink, his head hanging low with his eyes closed. They did it again— _he_ did it again. The supposed progress he made in the past few months is gone. He hoped he could ignore his feelings for Chanyeol if he ever ran into him, enough not to at least jump into bed with him for a passionate fuck session—but he couldn’t.  
  
His heart races as those memories come back to him. Chanyeol told him he loved him several times—he told him he loved him.  
  
Which is the truth. He doubts he would be suffering the way he is if his feelings were dying. The breakup never got easier but that pain that kept him awake at night and invaded his thoughts just became numb. He learned how to live with the hurt rather than do something about it.  
  
He’s confused about what he should do with his feelings. They’re clearly miserable apart, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop thinking about Chanyeol. He missed him as a person and a friend, but mostly as a romantic partner.  
  
Yet this is a tried pattern they can’t seem to let go of. It’s also one that’s toxic that Chanyeol shouldn’t participate in anymore with his mother being sick, but he can’t just leave him alone either, especially in their apartment.  
  
Baekhyun stands to full height and takes the t-shirt hanging from the back of the door and wears it; it falls to his mid-thigh. He exits the bathroom and walks to the kitchen, the only light on in the apartment.  
  
As quietly as he could, he gets himself a glass of water, still slightly drunk from the night before. Everything is in the same place before he left the apartment. Their glasses are still in the cabinet above the microwave and the water jug is placed on the second shelf of the door in the refrigerator.  
  
He takes a sip of the water, the aftertaste of the alcohol diluting its flavor. The floors creak as he walks past the stove and the same mysterious stain above the sink is still a muted dark gray color. He moves to sit in their living room, a pillow and a blanket folded neatly on the arm of the couch, but stops by the front door. He flips on the front room light and can see where Chanyeol dropped his keys after struggling to lock the door, his groceries are still on the cupboard but his school bag and the box his students made for him are on the floor. He stares at it, observing how the glitter transferred to his leather school bag, a gift from Chanyeol’s father for earning his undergrad degree, and the slight dent on the corner of the box where a student wrote _you’re the best!_ Balancing his glass of water with one hand, he picks up the box with the other, and returns to the kitchen. He sits in one of the dining chairs, the box and his glass of water on the table and opens the lid. He pours the folded letters onto the table, deciding to read them. It’s difficult since most of his students didn’t have the best penmanship and he still had an oncoming hangover to sleep off but understood the gist. Where their proper grammar fell through, the sentences he could read communicated their feelings efficiently.  
  
Most of the letters talked about how much they loved him and wished his health improved, and others discussed how concerned they were for him and told him to take medicine even if it tasted bad, which he couldn’t help but smile at.  
  
Present in almost all the letters was career day, primarily that they wanted his “friend” to comeback so they could all play together. Some drew pictures of them, Chanyeol with puppies on leashes and Baekhyun next to him smiling.  
  
He was happy then, they were happy, but he doesn’t know how to bring that back. Perhaps it’s an issue of them not trying hard enough, breaking up becoming a way to win a fight depending on who wants the other back first.  
  
A toxic game that he ended but is finding himself wanting to participate in again if that means things can make sense for a short while—as selfish as it was.  
  
He’s not sure what brought him to tell Chanyeol he didn’t feel the same way anymore. He knew he was tired of the steady nosedive they were taking for the umpteenth time and didn’t feel appreciated. He wanted to tell himself he’ll ask for Chanyeol’s forgiveness and work on being more patient and not quite so emotionally explosive, but it’s not going to work, it never did. Chanyeol had to put in a better effort too, and it’s clear he’s incapable of that as well.  
  
He reads the last letter, places it back into the box, and leans into the dining chair. He hears the click of a door and his heart leaps to his throat. From his position, he couldn’t see down the hallway, but he can see that his previous bedroom’s door is open, and the light is on due to the reflection of the wall that’s in his realm of sight.  
  
They couldn’t ignore this conversation, one that wasn’t full of ugly words and empty promises that only tasted good in the moment. He closes his eyes as he hears the toilet flush, the beat of his heart loud in the thump of his palms. He already lost everything, but all of their previous breakups, it was never permanent. A part of him knew, despite telling everyone that he meant what he said and wasn’t going back to him, that it wasn’t. He wanted to be wrong.  
  
Despite him deserving to lose Chanyeol, he couldn’t—they couldn’t trade places.  
  
At the sound of a door opening, he opens his eyes and takes another sip of water. He has to be honest with his feelings and be realistic with how they go about them. They aren’t a bunch of kids anymore.  
  
When Chanyeol emerges from the hallway, shirtless while wearing the pair of sweatpants he had on earlier, his hair in his eyes, skin blotchy, and eyes swollen, Baekhyun wraps his arms around himself, feeling suddenly naked. He tries his best to avoid Chanyeol’s topless midsection. Without being under the direct haze of alcohol, he can see how much weight he lost. To the next person, they might not notice it or not perceive the loss as an issue and would blame it on not working out to maintain his body, but he knew how hard he worked to bulk up—they often fought about it because it was one of several reasons he was never home.  
  
”Baekhyun.” Chanyeol’s voice is deeper than usual, the raspiness of his tone caressing his ears in a forbidden kiss, one that elicited a pleasurable shiver down his back, one that reminded him of their previous morning afters when Chanyeol kissed him awake, humming his name with the promise of toast and a glass of apple juice in bed.  
  
Without making eye contact, Baekhyun mutters, “We need to talk.” His tone is even, and he stares at scratch on the black painted table, one that was there fresh out the box and he had to talk Chanyeol out from returning it because it was too much of a hassle.  
  
The silence that follows is deafening and fear drops into Baekhyun’s gut.  
  
He can hear a chair scrape against the wood floor, and when he looks up, Chanyeol is sitting on the opposite side of the table on the farthest side, staring at the recycle bin next to the refrigerator.  
  
He felt the distance despite them sucking face a few hours ago. Unlike their other drunken trysts that happened without much of an acknowledgement of what happened that led to their separation, Chanyeol knew they weren’t back together, and proposing such an idea with how they stood was delusional. Baekhyun wouldn’t be shocked if Chanyeol came out of the bedroom wanting to talk to him about the same thing as well.  
  
“Chanyeol,” Baekhyun starts slowly, “I understand you’re worried about your mom, and it isn’t a good time to talk about this, but we need to talk about our relationship status,” he swallows thickly, “So we’re on the same page.”  
  
Chanyeol nods and pushes his hair out of his face by running his fingers through it and scratching his scalp. He doesn’t make eye-contact, his eyes glazed over in thought. With a blink, he’s suddenly looking at Baekhyun, “Did you mean it?” His voice wavers and Baekhyun can feel the air tense around them, his breath short.  
  
Baekhyun’s mouth parts, unsure how to approach the question. Chanyeol’s gaze commands his attention, wearing a look he’s not familiar with.  
  
He’s told Chanyeol thousands of times that he loved him, ending phone calls with the phrase and reminding him whenever he thought about his feelings towards him—which was often, but if felt like the first time when he proposed that they take that step out of being platonic and to something more. It’s another crossroads that could change the trajectory of their lives.  
  
Chanyeol sucks the inside of his cheek, making a click sound, at his prolonged silence. He looks away, and mutters something to himself. He feels far away, farther than he did when Baekhyun climbed on the bus to speed away from the lives they were building with each other. After a beat, Chanyeol prods softly, his words uncertain, “Did you use me—”  
  
“Chanyeol—”  
  
“Out of pity?” Chanyeol turns to face Baekhyun, his eyes locked behind a film, “You saw that I wasn’t doing well then when you found out about my mom, so you—” He cuts himself off, his voice losing power as if each word hurt him, and frowns, his gaze in his lap.  
  
Baekhyun knows he’s still in love with Chanyeol, that he never stopped, and he crumbled under the intensity of it because he doesn’t know how to navigate it. He’s drawn to him without knowing how to make them work so they can become the same entity whose heart beat in tandem again.  
  
But maybe it was pity.  
  
If Chanyeol didn’t look so terrible, and he didn’t ask to talk, he wouldn’t be at his former apartment sitting before him like this. The alcohol didn’t help but he doesn’t know if he would have still kissed him if he was able to stop crying or let him touch him if he didn’t look so lonely.  
  
Yet, he wanted to do those things, are things he found himself thinking about on his lunch break while the kids slept or when he got home from work and the others haven’t returned to the apartment, allowing these fantasies to idealize.  
  
He wanted to love Chanyeol but felt like he couldn’t or rather shouldn’t.  
  
“Did,” Chanyeol starts, the passion he had before missing from his tone, a somberness replacing it—almost pleading, “Did you feel it at least? Was I alone with that spark?” His eyes sparkle from under the kitchen overhead lights, looking like the same man he ran into on accident at the bookstore and the same one who offered to share his notes when he dozed off during discussions of the medieval period because he would rather be a knight that fought dragons than read about one.  
  
“Yes,” Baekhyun answers instantly to stop Chanyeol from overthinking, to stop overanalyzing his own feelings, “I felt it.”  
  
His face is warm at his confession and his hands sweat as he rubs his hands against his thighs. He stares at his lap as his words slumber in his mouth. He’s terrified because their relationship is a mess and he doesn’t know how to fix it or move forward, if they could fix it at this point.  
  
The silence between them is unnerving. Baekhyun refuses to look at Chanyeol. Shame and guilt keep him rooted in his seat, his voice locked behind his lips. He put them through this not to break the cycle. He got too many people involved into his problems—but he couldn’t stop. He thought Chanyeol was a cold he couldn’t shake but he’s the sunrise after an all-nighter when the assigned paper finally reached the word count, that brief chill that soothed the burns of the sun’s rays on a scorching day, the first lick of a cup of ice cream, and the moment he climbed under the covers, the fabric chasing the chill from his bones—Chanyeol is the little things in life that made the repetitive cycle of work and sleep richer that reminded him that being human is a treasured experience. Chanyeol helped Baekhyun love life by the scent of his shampoo that stuck to the strands of his hair after a shower and his fleeting touches whenever he came into the kitchen to bother him, because he missed him, when he was shoulder deep in work.  
  
He’s so undeniably in love with him and was idiotic to think it would stop or could stop. Chanyeol has his heart and he has no intention of asking for it back.  
  
“Chanyeol,” Baekhyun chews on his lips, his heart thumping in his chest, echoing in his ears, “I was wrong. Back then, I was so fucking wrong to ever say something like that. I—” His voice breaks as pressure forms behinds his eyes and his throat restricts, “I told you my feelings changed because I was tired of not knowing how to love you anymore, even now,” a tear slides down Baekhyun’s cheek which he wipes off with the back of his hand. He continues to stare at his lap, his hand gripping his naked knees as another finds its way down his cheek, falling onto his palm, then another, “I still don’t know how to.”  
  
A chair scratches against the floor and Baekhyun swallows a sob. He rasps, finally looking up from his lap, “Chanyeol, I’m in love with you—”  
  
In an instant, he’s pulled into an embrace, Chanyeol’s arms wrapped around his waist and his head in the curve of his neck. They fall into the table, Chanyeol between his parted legs as Baekhyun sits halfway onto the table. He hugs him back, his arms sliding under Chanyeol’s. He closes his eyes as more tears escape down his cheeks.  
  
The fall is exhilarating as the wind rushes past his ears, holding into Chanyeol as the tightrope slips from his fingers.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
